Unknown Soldier
by taralkariel
Summary: SHIELD is gone, and HYDRA is struggling to continue, especially in the face of a new threat: the Winter Soldier. While Steve searches for his best friend, Bucky has a new mission to destroy HYDRA. Natasha is hiring out her specific set of skills when their paths start to cross. (Narrative switches between Bucky, Steve, and Natasha, could be read shippy or friendshippy).
1. Borderline Dead Inside

**A/N: Hey! If you've read my other stories, this one is kind of an alternate idea of what Bucky, Natasha, and Steve might have done immediately after the movie. I hope you all enjoy their adventures :)**

**1\. Borderline Dead Inside**

The van came to a halt abruptly. He tightened his grip on the seat beneath him and watched with some concern as the bound man on the floor slid forward on the rough floor. There was a groan emanating from the bag on the man's head, but he did not seem to have been further injured. The driver came around and opened the back doors. Though they had just arrived, there were already nearly a half dozen men standing outside, fully armed and shifting uncomfortably. He glanced at the other guy in the back of the van with him, who nodded. They both got to their feet, then bent down to lift the prisoner by his arms and drag him out the back.

They were surrounded as they repositioned themselves to drag the man, upright, inside the bunker. The prisoner was near consciousness, but his feet did not help them, just hanging listlessly. His head lolled back and forth with the rhythm of their steps. He began to worry again. The boss considered this guy to be very valuable. If anything happened to him… Things wouldn't look good for the three men who'd gone to fetch him. He wondered if the driver had taken advantage of the situation to make himself scarce. The mission had not exactly gone according to plan.

The crowd of mercenaries made its way down a cold concrete hallway, the occasional light hanging unadorned from the ceiling to harshly light their path. The ground sloped downward sharply and it became difficult to keep the prisoner from sliding ahead of them. Many of the other men were beginning to hang back, securing the van and the doors, rather than continue with them to their destination. He wished he was able to do the same. His skin began to crawl as they entered the room where prisoners were always brought. There was a metal chair in the center, and they headed toward it. With some effort, they dragged the prisoner into it and secured his ankles and wrists. There wasn't a sound except a distant dripping of water somewhere. The sounds of the others had faded and the two men glanced at each other nervously.

The door at the other side of the room opened silently and a man stepped out. The boss. Both men started; he made for an intimidated figure. He didn't know if it was because of the man's height, or his build, or the sinister mask covering his face, or maybe it was just the atmosphere of the room where he chose to meet his men. But he couldn't wait to be dismissed.

"Report."

He cleared his throat and glanced at his fellow, whose eyes were wide and afraid. "They knew we were coming, sir. We managed to get this one, but the rest escaped." He looked away when those unfeeling eyes turned from the prisoner to meet his. "I'm sorry, sir," he added nervously, looking at his feet.

The silence stretched and he wondered if the boss would kill him. The stories about him were legendary and terrifying. He hadn't seen him in action, but definitely didn't want to if he was on the opposite side. He glanced at his friend again, and wondered if his own face looked as obviously petrified. He was aware of the boss looking between them, and at the prisoner, considering something.

"Leave."

They did not need to be told twice, exiting the room as quickly as they could without seeming too much like they were fleeing. They climbed the sloping floor back up to where the others were.

"You lived!" one of them, Edwards, cried, laughing and handing them a flask. They were quickly surrounded, hands patting them on the back. He found himself smiling in relief.

"How'd he take it?" another man, Pacheco, asked.

"I don't know. He just told us to go."

"Well, consider yourselves lucky. I've heard some pretty nasty stories."

"Like what?"

They all turned to face the new guy, Jones. He seemed to immediately regret his question, making a face. "Do you know what you signed up for, my friend?" Edwards asked, clapping his arm around the shoulders of the newest recruit.

"I… To get paid," Jones guessed.

They all laughed. "To do what?" Edwards pressed.

"Um, take down the enemies of whoever is paying us," he tried again.

"Oh, yeah, we destroy cartels, put down rebellions, take down governments, all that fun stuff. But why do you think the boss recruited us?" Edwards asked.

Jones looked confused. "For man power," he said matter-of-factly.

His frown deepened as the men around him laughed grimly. "There's never more than a dozen of us. No, my friend, we are here to gather intel for him. To pick up prisoners for him to interrogate. He can't take prisoners himself. Do you know why?" Edwards leaned forward conspiratorially.

"No," Jones replied slowly, eyes widening.

"Because he just leaves a wake of destruction where ever he goes. I've been on a mission with him. If you're ever lucky enough to go, just remember, stay out of his way." The new recruit looked around nervously, and the others nodded at him, confirming the statement. "He doesn't need us. We just come in handy, doing the leg work on finding the next target or client. So, try not to be like these two and let him down," he added, patting them on the shoulders. "They are lucky to still be breathing."

"Yeah, I've never been so terrified in my life," his friend admitted, laughing awkwardly.

The men laughed with him, not callously. There were many ghost stories about the man they served, and killing a whole team because a couple of guys screwed up was not out of the realm of possibility. So they were all relieved that there did not seem to be any repercussions. The group of mercenaries began to dissipate, cleaning weapons, eating, sleeping. There was always something that needed doing, and there was a growing tension as everyone tried not to listen for whatever was happening to the prisoner, down that cold, dark hallway.

It was hot here. Much hotter than where he was used to being. His usual mission gear stifled, even down here underground. Still, he wore it whenever he was going to be seen. It was very effective, despite the discomfort. He stood over the man in the chair: Luis Armendariz, five foot eight, one hundred forty pounds, known HYDRA agent. Armendariz had been travelling between bases, fleeing the one he had recently destroyed. He'd wanted his men to find the next base, or at least bring him back a few men who could be turned against each other. But they had failed. He was considering what to do about that.

Armendariz was unconscious, and likely to remain so for a while. He turned away and walked back into his quarters. They were fairly bare; he never stayed in one place for long, and it was not as though he had anything sentimental to carry around with him. The intel he had gathered on the locations of remaining HYDRA cells was all contained on a laptop that sat on a makeshift desk. He sat down to review it and consider how best to discover what he needed to know. A small part of him vaguely recalled that information for his missions had once been on paper, then computer screen, then holographic projections. Very little time seemed to have passed between these changes, though he'd been made aware that his perceptions were off. He pushed the thoughts away. They weren't relevant to his current mission and he knew what could happen if he mused too long on the past.

He was aware that, after the war, Nazis had fled to South America. It came as no surprise that HYDRA had done the same, both then and more recently. They were attempting to consolidate, to regroup, to return to their former glory while SHIELD was barely limping along and the world reacted to their continued existence with disbelief. He was not going to allow their success. He needed to work fast. He needed Armendariz to talk. Interrogation was messy, inefficient. It was not a skill he had possessed, perhaps at any point. He rubbed his face with his hand, passing it through his hair and sighing heavily. Then he rose from his seat and returned to the interview room.

Down the hallway, the mercenaries all froze where they were. A few slowly turned their heads toward the sloping hallway, staring into the darkness. Most looked anywhere else. After an agonizing pause of close to a minute, they all began to chat loudly and insistently with anyone nearby, the words they spoke irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was to drown out the noise, the terrible noise, that echoed against the concrete and sounded as loud as if they were all in that room with the prisoner. The three who had gone to fetch him looked positively sick.

After only a few minutes, though it felt much longer, the sounds were cut off abruptly. They fell silent again, listening hard against their better judgment. "Edwards," a voice called quietly. It was not loud or harsh or commanding, but more effective than any other boss they had heard. Edwards immediately rushed down the hall, leaving the remaining men glancing at each other and smiling weakly in relief. No man wanted to hear his name spoken by that voice.

He stood in front of the chair containing the prisoner. Armendariz had lost consciousness again. He waited patiently as footsteps approached and stopped at the doorway. Edwards had probably been with him the longest, but that kind of thing was continuing to be difficult for him to keep track of. He glanced up, aware of the effect his masked face had on his men. It was not the same mask as before, that was long gone, but he wanted to keep his face covered. Facial recognition software was nothing new, and he did not want to be found. Not yet, anyway.

"Take him to a cell."

"Yes, sir," Edwards replied, moving from where he had been standing almost at attention just outside. He stepped back and watched the other man unfasten the restraints and pull Armendariz from the chair and drag him away. He waited until they were some ways down the hallway before approaching the door and pulling it shut. Then he gritted his teeth and walked up to the chair. It was unpleasant, having it here, bringing back dozens of terrible memories. Having it so close to where he slept was worse still. It's not like mine, he repeated to himself, often as a mantra. It would not have done any permanent damage to Armendariz, only painful while attached and running. When he woke up, his mind would merely remember some discomfort, but otherwise be unaffected.

He went over to the console beside the chair and pressed a few of the controls. The results were confusing, and close to gibberish, but he perused them carefully, searching. Three locations presented themselves as the most significant in Armendariz's thoughts: one in Brazil, one in the Dominican Republic, and one in the Ukraine. There was no way to further isolate the information and narrow it down further. The intel he had on Armendariz did not indicate that any of these were significant for another reason, so they would have to search them all.

He returned to his quarters and uploaded the information onto his laptop. He gazed at the map it provided thoughtfully, a brief image flashing before his eyes of a similar map laid out on a table before him, covered with small physical representations of troops and bases. He shook it away, focusing on the digital one instead. Then he walked out of the room, across interrogation and opened the door to the corridor.

"Prepare to move. We leave at dawn."


	2. I Don't Mind Falling to Pieces

**A/N: Please read and review! This chapter is starts off a little before the last one and a little closer to the movie's end.**

**2\. I Don't Mind Falling To Pieces**

Steve walked down the stairs, inhaling the cold metallic scent of the vault ahead. The gate behind the vault door had been wrenched violently out of place. He swallowed. He wouldn't have known to come here if there hadn't been a report of the damage. He knew what to expect. But to see the physical evidence before him was unsettling. Sam walked passed him and scanned the place, then turned back with a grim look. He forced himself to join Sam in the doorway and survey the mess.

The walls were covered in safety deposit boxes. These were largely unharmed, except for an occasional fist-sized dent. There was a large metal chair, though it was difficult to recognize. It had been twisted and wrecked, as had what appeared to be various electrical panels and controls. There was dried blood on the floor, not a large amount, but Steve wondered painfully whose it was.

"It had to be him, right, Cap?" Sam asked.

Steve was grateful for the relative cheeriness of Sam's tone. But perhaps that was a result of not having to see the chaos here as evidence of his best friend's mental state, and blame himself accordingly for that. "Yeah," he answered, bending to look through the mess.

"They didn't find anyone here."

"Hmm?" Steve looked up at him sharply.

"There weren't any … bodies," Sam said quietly, meeting Steve's eye.

Steve glanced over at the dried blood. "That's good," he said slowly.

"Yeah." Sam shifted his weight, looking around the room. "I don't think we're going to find anything helpful here, Steve," he said at last.

Steve straightened, wincing as the movement caused the wounds in his stomach to pull uncomfortably. "You're right," he said, looking around the room as though maybe his friend would appear if he looked hard enough.

"Where to next?" Sam asked, his tone light.

He cleared his throat and focused on the mission. "Maybe Pierce kept something at his house. His office was demolished," he added.

"And maybe it will be in English," Sam said with a smile.

Steve allowed himself to smile back. The file Natasha had secured for him was entirely in Russian. His Russian was pretty bad, and he hadn't quite figured out who he'd be willing to ask for a translation. Sam had suggested using online translators, but Steve was wary of putting any of it on the internet. What Natasha had done and the aftermath was a big deal and he wanted his fragile friend's history to have no part in that. The fewer people who knew what had really happened to Bucky Barnes, the better.

They walked back up the stairs and out of the bank. It was an ongoing investigation, they'd been told by the officer at the front, but he was willing to allow Captain America inside. Steve wondered if that was going to be a universal thing, because he had been concerned how much he and Sam could do without SHIELD to help them. The police were perplexed by the fact that nothing appeared to have been stolen from the bank, and the bank owner swore that he had no idea what the equipment in his vault was. So there wasn't really a case the authorities knew how to approach.

Sam was parked down the street. Steve was silent while Sam drove them to the outskirts of the city, where they were surrounded by sprawling mansions. With everything in disarray, Steve was not surprised to find that Pierce's house was untouched. SHIELD would no doubt have liked to search it, and HYDRA would have wanted to destroy any evidence, but both were leaderless and unfocused. For now. Steve had only been out of the hospital for two days, and had not been there long, so everything was still in chaos.

"What are we looking for, Cap?" Sam asked as they discreetly broke in.

Steve smiled at the nickname. It was great having a friend for this. Natasha may have been more helpful, since this was more her realm of expertise than either of theirs, but he was very grateful that Sam wasn't letting him do this alone. "Files, a computer, something like that," he replied, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the front room.

"There are a lot of windows," Sam pointed out.

"Then we'd better shut the shades. I'm sure Pierce would hate for this stuff to be sun damaged," he added drily.

"Screw Pierce, this stuff is nice. _I'd_ hate for it to be damaged," Sam replied, looking around, impressed.

Steve smiled. "I don't think you should appropriate any of it for your place."

"No?" Sam asked, turning to smile at him. "Fine. I'll take this side."

The front door, which they had been standing just inside, seemed to divide the house in half. Sam took the right half, and Steve was, as ever, on the left. He walked down the narrow hallway, large windows on his right showing a great view of the landscaped backyard. There were pictures hung on the wall to his left, and he paused at each one to search it and make sure nothing was hidden in the frame or on the wall behind it. So far, nothing.

The end of the hallway brought him to the kitchen, with the living room just ahead. It was a large kitchen, with all the finest appointments. Steve sighed. Anything could be hidden in here. He began his search methodically, looking into each cupboard and feeling around for anything out of the ordinary. The kitchen was also well-stocked and he wondered when the last time he'd eaten was. The table in the kitchen was a good quality, and two of the chairs were still pushed out. He looked closely at these, but could find no evidence that his friend had ever been here, and no secret places for information to be hidden.

The living room was comparatively sparse, and took only a few minutes to look through. There were various pieces of artwork that he looked under and around, but was hesitant to break them to look inside. Similarly, he didn't think it would be a good idea to cut open the cushions of the couches. He stood at the doorway to the room, rocking back on his heels and thinking. Pierce entertained a lot of guests. It was unlikely that anything he had would be somewhere an unsuspecting person might stumble upon it. So inside couch cushions or busts would be a good hiding place. However, he was not here on any kind of official business, and could get in serious trouble, which wasn't something he had time for.

"Hey, Cap!" Sam's voice echoed down the hallway.

"Coming!" Steve called back, hoping he had good news.

He jogged down the hallway, passed the front door, and to the master bedroom where Sam was standing. He motioned for Steve to follow, and went into the walk-in closet. There was a dresser inside, and it had been moved aside slightly. "I could use some help with this," Sam told him.

Obligingly, he pushed the heavy piece of furniture out of the way and stood back to look at what appeared to be a safe hidden behind it. It was unlike any safe Steve had seen, almost featureless. But it was clearly different from the walls, despite being painted the same color. He nodded briefly at Sam. "Good find," he said, and Sam smiled.

"Thanks, man. How do we get it open?"

Steve crouched and felt around the door slowly. There was a small notch with a blue light faintly shining from two strips in the middle. There was otherwise nothing to indicate what to do. He ran his finger along the strips and concluded that the notch was just the right size to read a print. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We need a fingerprint."

"Pierce's fingerprint?" Sam pressed.

"Yeah, I think so. Or at least his finger."

"Now, I know you're not suggesting we go help clear the Triskelion wreckage and try to steal his finger when they find his body." He paused. "Or break into where ever they're keeping the bodies and look for his."

Steve got to his feet. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Maybe your friend Tony Stark can help," Sam suggested gently.

He hadn't spoken to Stark recently. He'd heard what he was going through and hadn't thought he could be all that helpful. But this was definitely in his wheelhouse. It couldn't hurt to ask. He pulled out his phone and selected the number from his contacts. As it started ringing, Sam moved away quietly to check on the perimeter and give him some privacy.

"Captain, it's been a while. I've been hearing all about you on the news lately," Tony said as soon as he answered.

"Yeah, well, same with you," Steve replied. "Have you read all the SHIELD files yet?"

"No, but JARVIS is saving them all for me, in case someone tries to take them down. I'm working my way through. There's a lot, you know."

"I know." There was a pause.

"I assume you didn't call to chat," Tony said finally.

"I need Alexander Pierce's fingerprint to break into his safe," Steve said frankly.

Tony laughed humorlessly. "That is definitely unexpected. Let me see what I can do."

"Faster would be better," he replied.

"Yeah, no, I get that. I'll call you back," Tony said and hung up.

Steve walked out of the bedroom to join Sam. "Any luck?" Sam asked, turning away from the windows to face him.

"He said he'd look into it and call back. Let's finish the search."

Fifteen minutes later, they had looked everywhere else in the house and were staring down the living room, trying to decide if they should wreck it in search of something that might not even be there. Steve's phone rang at last, preventing them from having to decide.

"You're in luck, Cap. Good thing Natasha leaked everything. She is thorough."

"What did you figure out, Stark?" Steve replied, walking quickly back to the safe, Sam on his heels.

"What phone are you using?"

"The one you gave me," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Good man. Put it on the scanner and JARVIS should be able to take care of it."

"Great."

Steve did as instructed, and watched in suspense as the phone lit up. It wasn't facing him so he couldn't be sure what it was doing. He glanced at Sam, who offered him a brief smile, before they returned their attention to the safe. It clicked open at last, and Steve picked up the phone. "Thanks, Tony," he said sincerely, pulling the door open.

"Anytime, Steve. Keep me in the loop."

"I will," he promised.

Hanging up his phone, he looked into the safe. There were a lot of files. He sat down cross legged before it and took out a pile, handing it to Sam. Then he took his own pile and began to search. All of the information contained was in English, which was a good sign. Tense moments passed. He tried not to show his anxiousness as the pile dwindled and there weren't any leads.

"Here, Cap," Sam said suddenly.

He was holding out a file, his face grim. Steve took it, vaguely aware that his hands were trembling a little. He opened it and inhaled sharply. Bucky's face was looking back at him, eyes staring unseeing and face gaunt. His hair was unkempt and he was unshaven. It was a headshot, so it was hard to tell where he was or what was happening to him, and Steve wasn't sure if this was worse than the picture of him in cryo from the other file. He took a deep breath. The information was in English. There was definitely less of it than the one Natasha had obtained, but still…

Sam had looked through the rest of the files while he was distracted. "Let's go, Cap," he said quietly. "Should we keep all of these?"

Steve looked at them for a moment. "Yeah, I think so. I don't want them to fall into the wrong hands." He got to his feet and they replaced everything the way they had found it. As they pulled away from the house, he opened the file and began to read.


	3. Count Me In, Violent

**A/N: Thanks for all the feedback so far! Please read and review :)**

**3\. Count Me In, Violent**

Natasha took a running start, then swung her legs around the man's neck and brought him down. She did not think about how relatively ineffective it had been last time she'd done it. She remained motionless once he was out, listening to see if the sounds of the scuffle had attracted anyone else. There were four men on the ground around her, two beginning to stir. She would have to hurry.

The brightly lit white corridors were silent. She got to her feet and walked over to the computer console. After a quick once-over, she found the USB port and inserted her flash drive. The security on the computer immediately came to life and she worked hastily to override it. It was complicated and took some time. She glanced at the men on the floor, then at the corridor again. It was time she had, she reassured herself.

She didn't have any backup. If there was a problem, there weren't any SHIELD agents ready to give her a hand. There wasn't any SHIELD to protect her, to extradite her, if she got caught. So she was being extra cautious. She needed to get the intel and get out of here so she could turn it over to her former colleagues. Getting that file for Rogers had not come without risks. Still, it had presented her with a good opportunity to leave the States for a while, at a time when that was definitely a good idea.

She sighed with relief as the hard drive finished downloading at last. She removed her flash drive and glanced around. Obviously, they would know she had been here. And she didn't want them to figure out what information she had chosen to take. She pulled out one of her electrical charges and tossed it onto the side of the computer. The image on the monitor shuddered and turned black as the device was activated. There were more thorough tools to accomplish what she wanted, but her resources were dwindling somewhat without SHIELD.

There was a groan behind her and she quickly turned around. Just one of the men stirring; there wasn't anyone else approaching as far as she could tell. She kicked him, hard, and walked hastily out of the room. Her footsteps were soundless and she moved fluidly down the long corridor. There were frequent doors interrupting the white space, but most were closed. When she reached one that was not, she stopped and listened carefully before jumping into the opening with her guns drawn. They were empty, at least of personnel. And she had what she'd come for.

Finally, she reached the corner at the end of the hall when the alarm began to sound. One of the men must have woken up enough to alert someone. She swore under her breath in Russian, and started to run. There was an exit at the end of this hallway, she just had to reach it. Once she was outside, she would be safer. The base was hidden underneath an outdoor market and she would not likely have any trouble disappearing into the crowds.

A force struck her from the right and knocked her into the left side of the hallway. She quickly recovered and turned to find a large man smiling coldly at her from a doorway to which she hadn't paid enough attention. He lifted a rifle to aim at her. She dropped immediately to her knees and slid across the smooth floor to get too close for him to shoot her easily. She wrapped her arms around his leg and used her momentum to knock him off his feet. His grip loosened on his weapon and she kicked it out of his hands. It skittered across the floor as she got to her feet and kicked him in the head. He fell back with a grunt, and she bent to pick up his rifle before running again. She didn't need it, but didn't want him to recover enough to shoot at her now that she was providing him adequate distance.

The alarm was blaring and a small part of her began to worry that they might be able to lock the place down remotely. She might need the rifle after all. Finally, she reached the exit. It was locked, which was not surprising, but there wasn't any extra tech on it to be locked down more thoroughly. She tossed one of her discs onto the locking mechanism and it shorted out. Then she used the butt of the rifle to break it. The unmistakable sound of booted men running toward her made her jaw clench, but the door was open and she rushed out into the sunlight.

There were gunshots behind her. She emerged in the back of a small shop, the patrons turning and staring. Snatching a blanket off of one of the tables, she ran out the door and wrapped it quickly around her, covering her hair. She slipped into the crowd, slowed her pace, and disappeared.

* * *

Natasha sat back calmly, bringing her cup of coffee up to her lips. It was still very hot, but tasted perfect. The escape had been a bit narrower than she would have preferred, but she was not particularly bothered. Close calls were a big part of the job. She'd had plenty before, and many there were closer than this. Still, taking some time to relax was justified. It had been a while since she'd been out on her own, essentially.

When her coffee was almost gone, a man pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. She glanced up at him briefly.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah."

"Any problems?"

"No." He met her eye and waited. She smiled disarmingly, and lifted her mug to finish off her drink. "It's not here," she said gently.

"Don't trust me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you trust me?" she shot back.

"Not after Krakow."

She laughed. "Now, that's unfair. I had nothing to do with how that mission went south. Besides, we survived."

He snorted. "Yeah, we did." He looked away, thinking. "Where is it, Natalia?"

"With my payment" she replied, smirking.

"Come on, then," he said and got to his feet. She dropped some money on the table and followed him. They walked down the alley at the south edge of the café, which went about thirty feet before it came to the road on the other side. It continued after the road, but he turned and they followed the sidewalk west for three blocks. Then he ducked down another alley, heading north, and stopped at a doorway fifteen feet down it.

The door was generally unremarkable, and she looked around while he knocked on it. The knock he used was peculiar, and she would remember the rhythm in case it came in handy later. The door opened a few inches and he pushed it the rest of the way. She tensed as she followed him, her hands loose and close to the pistols she kept on her thighs, covered by a long coat. The room they entered was small and dark, and she blinked a few times while her eyes adjusted. There was a couch on the wall to the right, and the room stretched farther down than she had initially thought; it was ten feet wide and perhaps twenty-five feet long. The couch faced a television on her left, which was on, though the sound was off. Passed this, there were some counters and lab equipment, with large lights hanging over the counters. These were off at the moment, and hard to make out. There was already a man in the room, seated on the couch. He was in his late forties, hair graying, glasses, and medium-build. It was otherwise empty.

"Natalia, it's been a while," the man said.

"Yes, it has, Victor," she replied quietly. He smiled up at her.

"Did you come to reminisce at last?" he asked.

"No, I came to be paid," she said coolly.

He laughed. "You always were so focused. So difficult to distract. Why didn't you ask for payment in advance?"

The man she had followed walked past the older man, down to the darkened lab. She watched him closely, glancing occasionally at Victor. The comment put her on edge and she looked harder around the room. "You were never one to risk someone running off with the cash before the job," she answered calmly.

"And you didn't think you could expect special treatment, after everything that we've been through together?"

She sighed. "That was a long time ago, Victor. Where is it?"

He turned to the other man and nodded. "Bring the lady what she asked for," he said, smirking at her. The first man brought her a small black bag, having taken it from behind one of the counters in the back. She lifted it experimentally, cocking her head to the side as she assessed its contents. Then she nodded shortly. "I wouldn't cheat you, my dear," Victor assured her.

Smiling, she took a few steps backwards. "That's wise of you."

"You're forgetting something, Natalia," Victor warned, the other man stepping closer to her. "You're slipping. Are you feeling alright?"

"I thought I'd show our friend here where I left it," she answered.

The man looked at her, then back at Victor, who nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, don't stay and chat. I just thought I'd give you another opportunity to get what you really want."

"And what's that?"

"An airtight cover, maybe some more cash. Set you up somewhere comfortable so you don't have to run around in that fetching black jumpsuit," Victor said with a cold smile.

"You don't think I can take care of myself?"

"Oh, not at all, my dear, I just wanted to help you out. After all, what are friends for?"

She sighed. "What would I have to do?"

"There is a facility in Kiev. Well, outside of Kiev. It's underground, only a very select few know of its existence," he began.

"And you want me to go fetch their intel. Why? What's special about this one?"

He looked slightly annoyed at the interruption, but then smiled at her curiosity. "It was a scientific facility. They were doing all kinds of exciting experiments on human subjects. And I know you'd much rather get me the results than let me try to come up with my own."

She weighed her options. A job was a job, and it was becoming difficult to move without being recognized. Doors were closing on her, and she didn't know how many open ones she was likely to find at this point. She could hear him detail the mission, at any rate. "Fine, let me fetch your merchandise, then you can tell me all about it and we'll negotiate a price," she said, and strode back out the door, the other man fast on her heels.


	4. Let's Being Feeding the Sickness

**A/N: Please read and review :)**

**4\. Let's Begin Feeding The Sickness**

He hated travelling. The base was emptied and anything valuable packed in the trucks over an hour before dawn. The logistics were never an issue. It was the act itself, waiting patiently in the back of a van or a train, occasionally a plane, while he allowed himself to be taken. He could have driven, of course, but he knew that wasn't what was expected of him as the one in charge. And it was very important that he not break down that kind of barrier. So he waited patiently, appearing at ease when he could be observed, and making sure no one witnessed how his hands clenched tightly to anything within reach when the van lurched or the train rattled.

The location in Brazil that Armendariz had provided was not far from the bunker, so finding a plane was not necessary. Half an hour before dawn, he emerged from his quarters. The interrogation room had been emptied already. The men were in the mess, eating quickly before they left. They had been joking and chatting, but a silence fell over them when they heard him approach. He had his duffel bag, containing his few possessions, slung over his shoulder and was wearing his full mission gear. None of the men had seen him without it, none had seen his face. He wondered, from time to time, why they were willing to follow a faceless ghost. He was unable to come up with an answer. The men he'd followed, willingly or not, had been full of ideals and convictions, not silent and frightening. That his men were frightened of him he had no doubt, and he worked to encourage the reaction. If they knew the truth about him… Well, that was best avoided.

He surveyed the room carefully, assessing the situation. "Is everything ready?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, sir," Edwards responded quickly. "We can be on the road in a few minutes."

He nodded. "The destination is outside of Sao Paulo." The men nodded in understanding. He walked passed them and outside. The cool morning air was pleasant and it was somewhat unfortunate that he had so little exposed skin to enjoy it. He headed for the SUV in the front of the line and climbed into the passenger seat to wait, tossing his duffel into the space behind his chair.

* * *

"He doesn't eat?" Jones asked, tone hushed, eyes fixed on the door.

"Not that I've seen. He'd have to take his mask off," Edwards replied testily as he turned back to his coffee. He wasn't a morning person.

"Which he doesn't do?" Jones pressed. He looked around the group of mercenaries who shrugged or shook their heads. "You've never seen what he looks like?" he asked, incredulous.

"Do we need to?" Ramos asked.

He considered. "Why do you think he wears it?"

"To scare the bejeezus out of everyone," Edwards said confidently. "It's working," he added in a stage whisper, prompting the others to laugh.

"He's the Winter Soldier. He's supposed to be anonymous, a ghost story," Lough explained.

"I thought the Winter Soldier was an assassin," Jones said. He looked at Edwards. "Most assassins don't cause destruction where ever they go."

Edwards smiled grimly. "He was an assassin, for HYDRA. They gave him his orders and he followed them to a T. But they screwed up somehow, because he defected and now he's hunting them down and destroying everything. Like a mad dog let off the leash. Except worse than that, because there is a method to his madness. He knows what he's doing."

"What's it like, when he's fighting?" Jones asked.

Edwards turned to look at the group, as though consulting them silently. Most had seen what happened when the Winter Soldier was unleashed, setting their jaws or grimacing at the memory. Edwards cleared his throat. "I'm not going to lie to you, Jones, I will probably have nightmares about it the rest of my life. He is… a whirlwind of death and destruction. I've never seen someone move so quickly and so efficiently. Whatever HYDRA did to him, you can bet your ass they're regretting it more than anyone's ever regretted anything." He shook his head in admiration. "Now, come on, men, we don't want to give him a reason to be any more pissed."

* * *

He didn't move as Rocha climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV, somewhat tentatively. He knew it was not an enviable position, being with him for a long trip. There would certainly be a level of camaraderie in the other vehicles. But his Portuguese was poor, and Rocha was from Brazil. So he would be the most useful in the lead vehicle. He turned his head slightly to the right and cocked his head, waiting.

"We're all ready, sir," Rocha answered the unspoken question, meeting his eye as briefly as possible.

"Good. Drive."

Rocha did not need to be told twice. He turned the vehicle on and they lurched forward. He fought the growing tension in his shoulders and resisted the urge to grab onto something. He was fine, he told himself. They were hardly moving. Even if he did somehow fall, he was close to the ground and could roll. Hardly any injuries would be sustained. He was fine. He took a deep breath, slowly, hopefully imperceptibly. Then he leaned forward and entered the coordinates of their destination on the GPS mounted in the vehicle. He could feel Rocha's eyes on him while he did so. His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to lean back and folded his arms over his chest. The left one glinted in the early morning light.

Hours passed. He waited patiently; he was good at that. As their road took them higher in the mountains, however, he began to become agitated. At times, the road was quite narrow and it took a great force of will to keep from grasping at anything solid around him as they careened around corners. He silently cursed Rocha and his driving, but was aware that his perceptions might be overly sensitive. So he didn't say anything. If Rocha noticed his distress, he kept it to himself, his attention on navigating the road.

Finally, they arrived in the area Armendariz had felt was important. He directed Rocha to pull over here, and climbed out of the vehicle. Having his feet back on the ground was a comfort. He strode confidently forward as the other vehicles, four of them, stopped nearby and the men exited them. He came to a halt at the edge of the shoulder and turned to face them. They gathered in front of him, several feet away, and watched him expectantly.

"You are looking for a base. It will be hidden. If they spot you before you find them, they will kill you. It should be within half a kilometer in that direction. Ramos and Jones will scout ahead." He paused, and the two men named jumped into action, disappearing into the jungle. "You will follow. And you won't be noticed," he added coldly.

The men nodded, glancing at each other nervously. Not all of them were skilled at stealth. He waited a few minutes for the scouts to get ahead, then he sent the next two men, following a trajectory a little more northern than the first pair. When all the men were sufficiently fanned out and searching, he joined the hunt himself.

* * *

It was empty. It had most certainly been a HYDRA base; they had done little to hide their existence when they left. But it had been empty for some time, since perhaps before the helicarriers had been brought down. There were no casualties in this mission, at any rate, and he downloaded all the information that the computer banks in the facility contained. Then he sent his men out and saw to it that no one would be able to use the location again.

* * *

The SUV rattled beneath them as they made their way toward the coast. Edwards was typing away on a laptop while Jones drove and Ramos sat in the back. "That was amazing," Jones said in a hushed voice after a while. The other two looked up at him sharply.

"The explosions?" Ramos asked.

"Yeah, you know, the destruction. I've never seen anything like it."

Edwards smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Wait until we get to Sao Paulo and you see how he gets us a plane."

"What?" Jones gasped.

"We can't drive to the Dominican Republic," Edwards explained slowly.

Jones shook his head slowly. "No," he agreed quietly.

"Do you think they know we're coming?" Ramos interjected. "That wasn't exactly subtle."

"Oh, my friends," Edwards said, laughing. "There is no 'we,' it's not about us. He wants them to know _he_ is coming." The other men glanced at each other in the rearview mirror and Jones swallowed.

* * *

The vehicles were stopped half a mile from the villa of a very prosperous man; too prosperous for everything to have been above board. The Winter Soldier was standing next to Edwards, looking at the information on his laptop. He appeared to be looking there, at any rate; it was impossible to see his eyes behind the mask. The second-in-command, as he might be called, was explaining the layout of the villa and where a plane would be. There were several to choose from, apparently.

The Soldier absorbed this information without comment, then took the laptop from Edwards and used it for a few moments. He shut it abruptly and walked over to the nearest SUV. A few men stepped back when he pulled out a grenade launcher and swung it over his shoulder, then attached several pistols to harnesses on his person. He checked the level of ammunition on his belt, replacing some of it, then slid the door shut roughly with his right hand. He turned back to the men and seemed to take stock of them.

"Wait for me at the far end of the runway," he said calmly, and turned away, disappearing as thoroughly as though he'd never been there. They packed themselves up and went where they had been told.

They waited only about twenty minutes before a sleek new private plane taxied down the runway toward them, turning around once it reached the end. Unlike the HYDRA base, the Winter Soldier did not seem to want their presence known, so there were no obvious explosions. He appeared in the doorway of the plane and jumped to the ground. It was several feet, but he walked forward as though it was hardly an inch.

"Unpack," he ordered quietly.

The men hastened to do as told. He stood with his arms folded over his chest as he observed their progress. Some of the chair apparatus was difficult to get into the plane, but they hurried, sweating at the thought of delaying him. Armendariz was taken into the plane, too, and laid out in the back. The Soldier checked the SUVs to be sure they had done their jobs, then he jumped through the open door, ignoring the ladder they had used. The men watched silently as he walked to the back of the plane, where Armendariz was, and shut the connecting door.


	5. How Do I Simplify, Dislocate

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, followed, or favorited :)**

**5\. How Do I Simplify, Dislocate**

Sam may not have said he was a pilot, but he could fly a plane. Or, more accurately, a quinjet. Steve could fly it, too, but Sam had volunteered and told him to get some rest. He was sitting in the back, leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes closed. Not that he expected to be able to sleep. He hadn't been able to in a few weeks. Not when he didn't know what had happened to his best friend. Exhaustion forced him to get a few hours from time to time, but mostly he read the files, even the one in Russian, and tried to figure out where Bucky could be. Learning in more detail about what had happened to him just made it worse, though, and he had started having nightmares. More than just the ones about freezing that he'd had occasionally ever since he woke up.

The file had described the place where Bucky had been initially picked up and worked on after his fall. It was in Germany. They were headed there now. Steve thought about the other times he had been in Germany with Bucky. He didn't dare hope that Bucky would be there now, waiting for him. If he knew of the place at all, there was no indication that he'd go there. And it wasn't as though Steve was planning on staying a while to try to run into him. They were going to look for information, for whatever they could find that wasn't in the file.

There were records that indicated that Bucky's programming wasn't as thorough as HYDRA would have preferred. The exact cause or symptoms were not often mentioned, but repeated wiping and longer time spent in cryo was recommended. Recently, it appeared that Bucky was not allowed out for more than a day if avoidable. There had also been orders advising strongly against allowing him to work on American soil. The news gave Steve a flutter of hope in his chest. If Bucky had often fought against what they did to him, it might mean he could come back, really come back from all of this.

Steve ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. He shouldn't hope for too much. Saving Bucky from how they had been using him might be all he could expect to accomplish. And he was reasonably sure he had done that. HYDRA was in disarray, and he was relatively certain they didn't have the capabilities to capture and hold Bucky right now. Particularly since the machinery they used to make the Winter Soldier had been destroyed. They might have a spare, he supposed, but the files seemed to require that the apparatus be transported with Bucky, not rebuilt in new locations.

He got to his feet and went to sit next to Sam in the front. "How's it going?" he asked.

Sam glanced up at him. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nope."

"We'll find him," Sam said reassuringly. "We should be there in about an hour."

"Do you think he'll be there?" Steve asked, wishing his voice didn't hitch at the thought.

"I don't know, man. What will you do if he is?"

Steve looked over at Sam, thinking. Sam kept his eyes on the sky in front of them. After a long moment, he glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Try to talk to him, I guess," Steve said quietly.

Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, what do you think he'll be doing if he is there?"

"Destroying everything, if the bank vault is any indication," Steve said darkly.

"So, we get there, we go in, and we find him tearing the place apart. What do you say to him?"

Steve considered. "Call him his name again, tell him mine. Offer to help him if he'll talk to me after."

Sam smiled grimly. "It would be cathartic to cause some destruction," he admitted. "For both of you."

"Yeah, I could probably use some of that." Steve paused, staring out the window. "Do you think he'll be willing to talk?" he asked softly.

Sam sighed. "I don't know, Cap. How much of Bucky do you think is in there?"

"He's broken his programming before. There were quite a few references to making sure he wasn't out of cryo very long and to wipe him pretty regularly. He also wasn't supposed to be sent on missions in America. So I think there is probably a lot of him there, just buried. Hopefully fighting to get out… He saved me. He didn't have to, it would have been enough that he didn't finish his mission and kill me. But he actually rescued me from the river," Steve added, pursing his lips.

Sam put his hand on his shoulder. "I know," he said quietly. "But that just leads me to question why he walked away. Why didn't he stay with you? Or find you after? No one's seen him or heard of him since."

"I don't know," Steve answered wretchedly. "Maybe he doesn't want to see me."

"Maybe. Don't worry, man, we'll figure this out," Sam insisted. Steve smiled at him sadly.

* * *

The base was not hard to find from the air. It was pretty remote, surrounded by woods, so would have been much harder if they weren't flying. There was, however, no choice but to land at the base itself. Steve suited up and got his shield while Sam put the quinjet down. They exited carefully, guns drawn, ready for any kind of welcome they might receive. There was none. The place was deserted.

It was mostly an underground facility. Steve pried open the doors with difficulty. The mechanism was rusted; no one had been here in a while. They walked quietly down the cold concrete corridor, looking into the occasional guardroom or office on either side. After twenty feet, they reached another corridor, perpendicular to the one they had been following. It was dark, and they had to use flashlights to see. Sam turned to look at Steve.

"I think we should stay together," Steve whispered.

"Which way first?"

Steve shrugged. "Right, I guess."

They moved softly down the hall. This one had no doors on either side for nearly thirty feet, and Steve began to wonder if there was any point to it. When they reached the end, there was a single door on each side, right against the dead end. Steve pushed the one on the right open. Inside, there was a cavernous room. It was almost entirely empty, but they went in and explored it anyway. There were a few things remaining, and they indicated that this was some kind of training facility. The floor still had a few mats on it, though these had been upset at some point. They explored the other room and found it to be much the same. There wasn't any useful information, so they went back the way they came.

The other side looked much more promising. It was lined with quarters, often containing offices. A few had computers in them, which Sam turned on while Steve continued searching. None of the rooms was particularly remarkable, though Steve looked hard for some evidence of Bucky having been there. He didn't know what he was looking for, though, and returned to Sam, unable to shake off the feeling of disappointment.

"These are pretty old, you know. I'm not sure they will be very helpful," Sam warned him when he leaned against the door frame.

"Any leads to go on would be good," Steve replied. "No matter how old."

"Well, let's see what we've got," Sam replied.

The computers took some time to boot up. Steve waited patiently as Sam worked. It was too bad Nat wasn't here; she was very good at this part of the job. She was gone, though. He didn't know where she was or what she was doing. He knew she could take care of herself, but she was really the only Avenger he wasn't able to locate right now. There was always the contingency that they might all be needed again, but Fury was deep undercover and may not be able to call everyone. Things were in shambles. He wondered if he should have gone to New York, where Bruce and Tony were, to help put the pieces back together. Not yet, but soon, he assured himself.

"It's in German, Cap. Mine's a bit rusty," Sam said suddenly.

"You speak German?" Steve asked, surprised.

"I can say a lot of dirty words," Sam replied with a smile.

"I'm sure that comes in handy," Steve said with a short laugh. He walked into the room and Sam moved away from the console to give him space. He read through the lists of documents and read through a few. The most recent one was from 1998. There were a great deal from the same date in 1993, which he assumed had been entered into the machine at the same time. He froze when he saw one titled Der Vermögenswert, the Asset. His fingers trembled as he opened it.

Sam leaned over his shoulder to look, and Steve found himself grateful that there weren't any photographs of Bucky for this one. He read a little; his German may not have been the best, but he could get the gist. His teeth were clenched and Sam put his hand on his shoulder.

"Steve, why don't we save it and read it somewhere a little safer?" he suggested.

"This place is abandoned, Sam, I'm not worried," Steve told him, but pulled out a flash drive and connected it to the machine. They waited in silence while it downloaded the information. As he removed his drive, a red flashing light appeared in the corner of the screen. They froze, staring at it. Steve glanced at Sam, then clicked on it. The warning was in German, which he translated for Sam.

"Warning all agents: The Cellar has been destroyed. Prepare all bases for full-scale attack," Steve read.

"What's the cellar?" Sam asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Steve replied, and began searching other files to find out. "It's in Brazil, near Sao Paulo," he said at last.

"Who do you think destroyed it?" Sam said softly, folding his arms over his chest.

Steve cleared his throat. "Who knows. But it might be him," he muttered.

"Then let's go."


	6. The Enemy's On the Way

**A/N: Thanks for feedback :) Please read and review! Chapter titles are from Breaking Benjamin, by the way.**

**6\. The Enemy's On The Way**

Natasha took a train to Kiev. It was pleasant to relax while someone else got her where she needed to be. Once there, she booked a hotel and took a nap. She treated herself to a good dinner and tried not to think about how nervous she was. The base she was going to was old, but there was sufficient evidence to suggest that a large portion of HYDRA had gone there after SHIELD was brought down. The last job had been much less risky. She considered again if the payoff was worth it.

Dressing for the mission, she took all of the weaponry she had at her disposal: a pistol strapped to each thigh, seven electrical discs, fully charged Widow's Bites on her wrists, a thick cable for garroting, and a rifle she swung over her shoulder. She pulled her hair back to keep it out of the way, and pulled her long coat over everything. The base was outside of town and she didn't want to be noticed before she reached it. After the sun had set, she left the hotel.

The base was six miles north of Kiev, on the Dnieper River. It was disguised as a power plant. Well, not really disguised, since it was getting power from the river. She drove as close as she dared in a borrowed vehicle (as Steve would call it), then covered the remaining distance on foot. The lights were on and it was clearly in business. She walked around the building, passed the inviting front doors, to the balcony on the back that hung over the river. She climbed over the railing and lowered herself carefully. Underneath the balcony was a small hatch. She swung herself upside down, holding on with her legs, and opened the hatch. Pulling herself inside, she slid on her stomach down the narrow space for ten feet.

The space suddenly widened significantly without warning and she dropped to the floor with less grace than she would have preferred. She got to her feet and pressed herself against the wall. It was mostly dark, but she could make out that the room she had entered was quite large. There were several dim blue lights coming from the other end of it. Where she was appeared to be some kind of training area. There were mats on the floor and weights set up here and there. She stepped lightly across the uneven floor and over to what she suspected was a computer bay.

It was possible that the information she sought was not going to be on one of these, since they were clearly meant for anyone's use. Still, she booted one of them up and searched its hard drive. Never one to waste an opportunity, she downloaded the contents despite the fact that none of it recorded any experimentation. She swallowed uncomfortably at the thought. The threat had been real; Victor would get the information in a most unsavory fashion if she failed him.

She moved quietly through the facility in search of a more secure computer. She had been given some idea of how it would look inside, but nothing as specific as she really needed. The place was large, much larger than any other HYDRA base she had seen. It was underground, and there were many floors beneath the plant. There were also quite a few people walking around, fully armed, but avoiding them became easier the lower she went. She was walking down a concrete hallway on the bottom floor when she found a room with a heavy metal door. Incongruously, it also had a large window about seven feet long beside the door. She tapped on the glass; bullet proof. Then she turned to the door. It was encoded.

It took several tries, and she began to worry about how long she should be here, when it finally opened. She stepped inside tentatively. It appeared to be some kind of control room. There were monitors on the walls that showed images from security cameras on the perimeter of the building. There were also a few computers. She checked carefully for anyone else in the room, or any sign that someone might be returning soon. A growing feeling of unease spread between her shoulders and she bit her lip as she approached the main computer console. The security was fairly advanced, but not to the level of a long-dead Nazi scientist, so she was eventually successful. It had taken a long time and she was fighting her instincts to get out of here. She was almost done.

Suddenly, an alarm began to sound. She dropped automatically to her knees, so she would have some cover. Listening hard, she was surprised to find that the level she was on remained silent. Had they not found her, then? She lifted herself enough to look at the monitors, but they only showed peaceful views of the perimeter. Whatever had set off the alarm was definitely inside. She ran out of the room and to the elevator. It was pausing on the ground floor, then headed downward. She hadn't called it; someone else might be coming down here. She rushed back to the monitoring room, feeling slightly more comfortable with the idea that she could at least have some insight into what was happening from these, and hid herself carefully behind the door.

She concentrated on her breathing, keeping it slow and steady. The elevator dinged quietly down the hall and she listened to footsteps approaching. Just one set, as far as she could make out, but they were heavy. She bit her lip and pulled the cable out of her belt silently, wrapping it tightly around each palm with about a foot of it between them. Then she waited, listening hard. From the sound of his boots (she assumed it was a he), he was exploring the whole floor. He didn't linger long at any of the other rooms and she tensed as the footsteps drew closer. She could feel his presence as he walked passed her hiding place and into the room.

Wasting no time for him to possibly notice her, she leapt forward, pushing the door shut and landing on his right shoulder. Her garrote wrapped around his throat and she pulled tight, her thighs squeezing to keep her there as he reacted. He slammed them backwards against the wall to dislodge her while his right hand dragged at the garrote in an attempt to loosen it. Neither were successful, and he reached with his left hand to grab her. She was too far away for that to be effective. He dropped to his knees, and then stretched his left hand out to grab onto the console nearby. She thought with some surprise that he might try to lift it and hit her, but it was too heavy. There was a sickening crunch as he dislocated his arm and she stared in disbelief as he was able to lift it again anyway. His cold fingers wrapped around her left shoulder tightly and he threw her off. She hit one of the desks hard and dropped, momentarily dazed.

She watched as he used his right hand to pop his shoulder back into place, then used his left to lift her by the throat. She grasped desperately at his wrist to keep all of her weight from hanging by her neck. He pushed her against the wall and tightened his grip. She struggled, but he kept her at arm's length so even when one of her strikes landed, it did very little damage. Not that she was capable of the kind of damage that would slow him down, she thought bitterly, groggily. Only Steve could do that.

Suddenly, his grip loosened enough for her to breathe, and he lowered her enough to put her feet on the ground. She looked up at him warily, though she couldn't see his face. His brow was furrowed, the only part of him visible over a mask. It wasn't the same one as before; this one was a solid piece. It looked like the material was softer, too. It wasn't any less intimidating, though, and she held very still, waiting to see what he would do.

"I know you."

His voice was surprisingly quiet. He cocked his head at her. "Yes," she rasped, since he seemed to be waiting for a reply.

"We've fought before." She nodded. He looked down, thinking. "You shocked my arm and got away."

"Almost."

He turned his attention back to her face and she could feel his eyes focus on her intensely, even if she couldn't see them. "You were with Steve."

Confusion and fear gave way to a flicker of hope. If he still remembered Rogers, maybe he wasn't a relentless machine anymore. Maybe she could reason with him, get him to let her go. "I was," she assured him.

"Is he here?"

The question was toneless, giving her nothing. She couldn't tell if he wanted Rogers around or not. "No," she said, hoping that the reason he'd stopped attacking her was not because he expected his former friend to come to her rescue.

"Why are you here?"

She glanced passed him, at the monitors. There were explosions on a few screens. The room shook slightly and some dust came down from the ceiling. Still, they were pretty far down, so that wasn't an immediate threat. She wondered if the elevator was still working. It didn't matter, though, because there was no way she could get passed him. No one could. That's what he had been made for, after all.

"Why are you?" she asked quietly, looking back at him.

His fingers tightened slightly on her throat and she tried not to think about what he could do with that metal arm. "To destroy it," he said at last. He cocked his head at her again, clearly waiting.

"Gathering intel," she answered. It wasn't a lie; it wasn't the whole truth and she was beginning to think that some of the experimentation here had been done on him. She didn't know how he'd react to that kind of information, but she was pretty sure that knowing she was stealing it to sell wouldn't be something he'd handle well.

He glanced back at the computers, where her flash drive was still inserted. The download was almost complete. He dropped her abruptly, and she fell into a crouch in surprise before she caught herself. She stood tentatively as he walked over and yanked her drive out. He put it in a pocket and pulled something out of his belt. He set it on the console, then turned back to her.

"You can stay here or you can come with me," he said flatly.

She looked at the device he'd taken out. It was clearly an explosive of some kind. She looked back at him and wished her two options weren't quite so similar. "Let's go," she said at last. He nodded sharply, then walked out the door. She followed.


	7. Show Me What It's Like

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Kind of a long chapter :)**

**7\. Show Me What It's Like**

The Dominican Republic had not contained a HYDRA base. Whatever reason that it had been important in Armendariz's mind remained a mystery. The man himself refused to talk, and the Soldier was unwilling to use more conventional methods to change that. It wasn't necessary, anyway. So they flew from the island all the way to the Ukraine. It was a long trip. He remained in the private section in the back of the plane for the entire length of it, fighting against the tension that filled him when he glanced out at the black water far below. He knew his pilots were skilled, and knew they would take shifts. There wasn't any reason to be so vividly imagining what it would feel like to be swallowed up by the icy current.

It was a great relief when they were over land again. That leg of the trip was not particularly short, but he was able to get some sleep at last. They landed at Zhuliany International Airport. If the plane had been reported stolen, news of it certainly had not gotten this far. For whatever reason, they were allowed to land. He had left that up to his men, and trusted they'd accomplish it whatever happened.

When they were done here, they would return to the bunker in South America. Being in Europe, especially Eastern Europe, caused unnecessary stress. He looked out the window passively as they halted on the tarmac. He could hear his men moving around, readying to disembark. Pulling on his mask and moving aside the partition, he looked down at Armendariz. The man was crouched in the corner, his hands and feet bound, glowering up at him. He could see the fear in his eyes as he strode closer. Armendariz made a stifled sound as he bent and picked him up by the ropes around his wrists, dragging him to the door.

"Take care of him," he said calmly to the cabin of partially armed mercenaries who stopped whatever they were doing to look at him when the door opened. "I'll get us a ride," he added. Silence reigned in the small area as he walked over to a pile of weapons and armed himself quickly. Then he pushed open the hatch and jumped easily to the ground. He could feel his men's eyes on him as he walked away.

It was fortunate that the location where they had been cleared to land was a strip pretty far away from the main airport. There was a small tower out there, not likely to be the one used to deal with the commercial flights. He rounded the corner of the building and pressed his back against the wall, closing his eyes. Sliding down the wall, he pushed his mask out of the way enough to rub his face with his right hand, his left wrapping around his knees. It was getting worse, a small part of him noticed as he fought to get his breathing back under control. It was harder to keep anyone from observing these lapses, these hiccups in his programming. Though, he thought bitterly, that was pretty thoroughly shattered.

"You're not with HYDRA, they don't have you, they can't get you again," he muttered through clenched teeth. He leaned his head forward and rested it on his knees for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and got to his feet, replacing his mask. The flight had been trying; he would make sure he had more privacy on the way back.

Bringing himself back to the mission at hand, he looked up at the tower and frowned. The location provided by Armendariz was rather close by. It would make sense that HYDRA might use this airport regularly. In which case, having a separate tower for their own people would be handy. Armed and terrifying as he was, though, he couldn't just wander in and look for some hint to prove his theory.

It was important that his men continued to see him as an agent of destruction, but that was certainly not his only option when completing missions. He moved silently down the wall to where there was a small brick enclosure around a door. Ducking inside this provided cover, he removed most of his weaponry as well as his leather armor. Hesitantly, he removed his mask as well and swept his hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. Wrapping the mission equipment into a bundle, he pushed it into the corner, then opened the door. He would have to hurry.

The door opened onto a dim hallway, the lights flickering. There was a window at the other end of the hall. His movements were quiet as he explored the building's ground floor in search of a way to lower floors. He knew HYDRA; they didn't hide secrets on the second floor. There was a front desk sort of area that he took care to avoid, not wanting to answer the questions that would surely come up if he were spotted. Completing the perimeter left him with no indication that there was anything here to hide.

He stopped near the doorway he had come in and frowned, looking back the way he had come. He closed his eyes and pictured a floor plan based on his reconnaissance. This hallway was twenty feet in length; there was a similar one on the other side of the building. Between them, on the north side, was the desk area. He had slipped passed it when the clerk had gone into the back. There was a service hallway on the south side, from which he had managed to explore the room behind the desk when it was empty. Something didn't fit. The back room was not as long as the front desk. There was a discrepancy of about five feet.

He walked around the corner and slipped into the back room again. It was a break room. There were vending machines on the southeast wall. He strode over and inspected them carefully, occasionally glancing over his shoulder toward the front. Frowning, he looked behind the machines and saw what he was looking for. Using his left hand, he wrenched the machines out of the way, then slipped passed them into the elevator hidden there. He supposed there was some trick to accomplishing this without causing destruction, but he was in a hurry. There was a shout from the front desk as the elevator doors closed and he travelled downward.

Not having all of his mission gear was mildly concerning, but he didn't think it would be too much of an issue. As long as he hurried. The elevator doors pinged opened and he was in a computer lab. It was large, enough to fill most of the space under the tower. It was also empty, which was helpful. He gave the room a quick inspection and determined that this was all that was hidden here. Selecting a computer near the elevator, he inserted his flash drive and began to download the information on the hard drive. Suddenly, a flashing light appeared in the corner of the screen. Frowning, he glanced at the progress bar of the download, then clicked on the light.

"Warning all agents: The Cellar has been destroyed. Prepare all bases for a full-scale attack."

He read the warning and wondered what the Cellar was. It seemed like too much of a coincidence to assume that something besides the base he had just visited in Sao Paulo had been destroyed recently. A smile pulled at his lips at the orders HYDRA had considered important enough to send out en masse. They couldn't prepare for him. Still, he would have to be a little more cautious in planning the assault on the base on the river.

* * *

He stood with his arms folded over his chest as the elevator carried him down ten floors. His men were surrounding the base and would attack it soon. After obtaining a van at the airport, they had driven here and he had given his orders. It had not initially been his intention to come in here alone, but he wanted information and didn't want some overzealous lab tech destroying it when a whole squadron attacked the place. Getting inside had not been difficult, since his men would attack in fifteen minutes to extract him and stealth wasn't a high priority. Anyone he ran into was quickly neutralized, though someone had sounded the alarm before he had reached the elevator.

When the doors pinged open, he was greeted by a strangely familiar sight. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the concrete halls. His feet pulled him forward as though of their own accord and he walked down the corridor to his right and turned in at the second doorway. The room was currently empty. Ghosts of previous experiences in this room flashed before his eyes and he clenched his fists, his jaw set. He knew this place. It was a bad place. They had done things to him here, terrible things.

With a great effort of will, he turned himself around and slowly explored the rest of the floor. Other rooms were familiar, and he wanted to cover his ears to stop the howling voices in his head, but knew that wouldn't help. The clock was ticking; he needed to hurry. He didn't have time to succumb to one of his attacks, and to do so here would be extremely risky. So he walked on, fighting against the violently returning memories that seeing this place evoked.

There was an open door with a control room of some sort inside. There were computers visible, and he supposed that these would be the most likely to contain secure information. Hacking into them wasn't his field, but he might be able to manage. He strode forward into the room, his focus on the task at hand helping to quell his unsettled thoughts.

Suddenly, the door swung shut behind him and he felt a weight on his shoulder and a pressure on his throat. He immediately slammed himself backwards against the concrete wall, angling so that most of the force would be on the assailant as he pulled at the rope around his neck in an attempt to loosen it. He was unable to, and his left arm couldn't get a good grasp on her. Black dots were forming before his eyes, from the lack of oxygen and the force of hitting the wall, and he was struck with a familiar feeling. It was different from the memories he had been having in the hallway, but not more welcome. He reached out and grabbed onto the nearest solid object he could find, using his weight to pull his metal arm out of its socket. The electrical connections stung and the pain was considerable, but he was able to grab her by the shoulder and throw her off.

He inhaled deeply as he pushed his shoulder back together and looked down at her. He'd guessed, from her size, that she was female, but he found the sight of her somehow enraging in a familiar way. He grabbed her by the throat with his left hand and pressed her against the wall, keeping her at arm's length so her attempts to defend herself were ineffective. Breathing heavily, he stared hard at her and tried to force his mind to conjure up where he had seen her before. A flash of red hair, a woman running away. Aiming carefully and seeing her drop. The mission wasn't complete; she pulled herself behind a car. Jumping onto a car to aim at her over it. And then someone else approaching. Steve.

He set her down without thinking, but forced himself to keep his grip on her throat. She was certainly dangerous, and he didn't know what her intentions were. He watched as she placed her feet carefully and inhaled experimentally around his fingers. She didn't appear to be trying to attack him anymore.

"I know you," he said abruptly.

"Yes," she answered after a beat, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"We've fought before," he added tentatively. "You shocked my arm and got away."

"Almost," she muttered.

He focused on her face. There was something else about her. "You were with Steve," he prompted.

"I was," she admitted, sounding surprised.

He licked his lips and glanced around. "Is he here?"

"No." Her response told him nothing, but seemed to be truthful.

"Why are you here?" he pressed.

He waited while she looked around, taking in the situation. "Why are you?" she asked.

His fingers tightened as he grew tense. Perhaps he was wrong not to kill her, like he'd done with everyone else he'd seen in this place. "To destroy it," he said coldly.

"Gathering intel," she informed him quietly, her eyes flickering away. She was hiding something. He followed her gaze to the computer, spotting what must be her flash drive. He released her and walked over, wrenching it from the slot. Pulling out a grenade, he contemplated what to do with her. It was helpful that she had hacked into the system for him. But his fifteen minutes were up and this place wasn't going to be around much longer.

"You can come with me or you can stay here," he told her, facing her direction. She was standing where she'd been left, watching him.

"Let's go," she said resolutely after a pause. He gave a brief nod to show he'd understood, then strode out of the room, listening to her lighter footsteps following.

"Place these in those rooms down there," he told her, holding out several charges.

She looked up at him, surprised, but quickly took them and did so. He waited by the elevator, wondering if he was slipping. Going down to those places again would likely trigger another attack, and he couldn't afford that right now. So he used her to help him again. It was also a good test of her loyalties, he assured himself; if she helped him destroy the base, then they at least had the same enemies. And they already seemed to have the same friends, he thought bitterly.


	8. To Dream in Black and White

**8\. To Dream In Black And White**

Flying directly to Brazil wasn't really an option, so Steve suggested they stop off in New York. If Sam guessed why he selected it, he didn't say anything. Steve insisted on flying and let Sam get some rest in the back. He had some thinking to do and knew he wouldn't sleep anyway.

Was Bucky trying to destroy HYDRA? He didn't know if anyone had come to collect the Winter Soldier after their fight on the helicarrier. The idea was haunting and he had been hoping desperately that this wasn't the case. So now he was hoping desperately that Bucky had been the reason a mass warning system had been utilized. Whether he had gone there of his own accord or if that was where they were holding him, he didn't know. It certainly indicated that his friend was no longer under their control.

Steve wished he could get Bucky's face out of his head, the way he'd looked at him those last few moments on the helicarrier, in shock and horror. He couldn't imagine what he was going through now. He wished Bucky had stayed with him after pulling him out of the river. But he didn't know who had found him and brought him to the hospital, and he supposed Bucky may have considered them a threat.

The fight was terrible, much worse than the one on the highway. Of course, Steve hadn't known who his assailant was for that fight, so it didn't cause him so much anguish. He was beginning to suspect that Bucky might feel the same way. He had been silent throughout the first fight, not making a sound until Steve used his name. The second fight was different; he'd snarled and grunted and cried out, seeming increasingly unstable as it continued. Steve supposed he should be happy that the programming was so obviously breaking, but it certainly hadn't been a pleasant development for Bucky. He just hoped that, once it was broken, Bucky wouldn't be in so much pain.

Steve sighed heavily. He had to find him. Not knowing where he was or how he was doing was torture. This was the only hint of him they'd had since the fall of SHIELD. Part of that was the lack of resources. Steve wasn't a spy, and neither was Sam. They didn't have people to gather information from, at least not new information. No one was going to report that there were whispers of the Winter Soldier resurfacing, but maybe he was.

Sam had asked him earlier how much of Bucky he thought was still in his friend, but he had really been asking him how much Winter Soldier they should expect to face. Sam was right to be concerned. If Bucky was still the Soldier, they might have to take him down. Not kill him, of course, Steve couldn't allow that, but take him captive. He wouldn't respond well to that, and Steve hoped there would be another option. He hoped that his recognition of Steve as something other than his mission would continue, and that he'd be willing to be helped by an old friend.

His only friend, Steve thought bitterly. The files made it clear that the asset was not a person. He was a tool, and his mind was wiped after each mission so the weapon remained a blank slate. It was sickening. How could people do that? Learning about everything that had happened since he went in the ice had been pretty challenging to his world view about the inherent goodness in people. There were unimaginable horrors from the last seventy years with which he'd had a hard time coming to terms after he'd woken up. Things had been better since then, but he'd been pretty depressed until SHIELD called him back in and he fought with the Avengers.

* * *

Stark Tower had a landing pad. Steve hadn't asked Tony before if he'd mind a visit, but JARVIS was friendly enough when they approached the Tower. Sam came and sat in the copilot's seat while they landed. He hadn't met Stark, and seemed excited at the prospect.

"Mr. Stark will be right out, sir," JARVIS told him through the ship's radio.

"Thanks," Steve said automatically.

"So, Stark." Sam turned to face him, waiting.

"Yeah. I thought… I think he could translate the Russian file for us," Steve said, running his hand through his hair, then getting to his feet.

"I'm sure he can, Cap," Sam answered, smiling reassuringly.

Steve walked back to his duffel and pulled out the file. He flipped through it absently, hating the contrast between Bucky's picture of him looking ghastly in cryo, and smiling in uniform during the war. The first one wouldn't have been quite so shocking if it wasn't paired with the second.

The hatch opened and Steve stepped out of the quinjet, looking around the roof. He turned back and saw Sam was still in the chair up front. "Come on, Sam," he called.

"Didn't know if I was invited to the party," Sam replied as he joined him, smirking.

"Neither of us were invited," Steve answered with a smile.

"No, you weren't," Tony interjected as he walked out of the building. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you were in Europe."

"Germany, yeah. We were. Thought we'd stop by on our way to Brazil," Steve explained. Tony looked a little worse for wear. Something was different. Steve frowned slightly. "This is Sam Wilson," he added.

"Good to meet you," Sam said, holding out his hand.

"A pleasure, I'm sure. You're the guy with the wings, right?" Tony asked, not releasing his hand right away after they shook.

"I was. They've been damaged," Sam answered carefully.

"By Capsicle's BFF? Do you have them? I could take a look," Tony said, smiling.

"Yeah, they're in here."

Sam turned back to the jet and Tony followed him. "Great job on the forever part of BFF, by the way, Rogers. Teenage girls have got nothing on you guys," Tony teased as he passed Steve.

"Thanks, I guess," Steve muttered. After a moment, he turned and walked back up the ramp. Tony was inspecting the damaged tech carefully, talking to himself the whole time. Sam interjected occasionally, but looked up and smiled at Steve when he entered, clearly delighted. "Can you fix it, Stark?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's gonna take a little while. Did you want to stay here?" Tony responded, lifting his gaze away from the pack eventually.

"We're kind of in a hurry," Steve answered. "That's not the only reason we came, though."

Tony stood up, glancing between him and Sam. "What's up, Cap?"

Steve held out the file. "It's in Russian. I was hoping you could translate it. Discreetly," he added significantly.

Smiling, Tony crouched down again to continue his inspection. "You know I don't like being handed things."

Steve sighed and set the file down next to him. "Can you do it?" he pressed.

"Translate some Russian into English? Yeah, sure, JARVIS can take care of it." Tony reached over and picked up the file, brow furrowing as he looked at the pictures on the front cover. Steve resisted the urge to snatch them back. "Here's your boy, huh? Doesn't look so good these days," Tony muttered. He looked up at Steve. "You sure you want to find him?"

Steve clenched his jaw. "Yes."

"It would be better than letting him run loose," Sam said, looking between them.

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, that's true." He picked up the pack and the file, careful not to bend the latter, and got to his feet. "I'll see what I can do with these and keep you posted."

"Thanks," Steve said shortly.

"Thanks, man," Sam said more kindly.

Tony smiled. "Be careful. I hear that guy you're hunting can beat up Captain America," he called as he left.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"Yep."

* * *

The area was in ruins. The only indication that this had been a base was all the concrete pieces littering the ground. Steve and Sam stood at the end of the ramp to the quinjet, surveying the wreckage. It was impressive, in a horrifying kind of way.

"Well, I don't think we're going to find a lot of clues here," Steve said at last.

Sam laughed sharply. "No, I think your friend took care of that."

"Do you think it was him?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Man, I can't say this is my area of expertise, but who else could it be?"

Steve shrugged. "Some other person HYDRA tortured? I'm sure there are others."

"Others like the Winter Soldier?"

"I don't know. Nat sounded pretty terrified when she heard he was around." Steve paused, thinking. "The files I read kind of make it sound like they perfected everything before doing it to him, so he'd be, you know, the top of the line. I don't think they have anyone else like him hidden away."

Sam nodded. "Well, we came all this way, might as well look around."

Unsurprisingly, searching through the rubble was not particularly informative. There wasn't a lot of debris unrelated to the structure itself, so it was beginning to seem like no one had been here at the time. Steve felt some relief about that. Bucky had killed enough people already. Some computer parts were strewn here and there, but Steve knew they didn't have the ability to get any information off of them. It took close to an hour before he felt satisfied enough to leave. There was nothing here.

* * *

Back on the quinjet, Sam sat in the pilot's seat and looked over at him. "Where to, Cap?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "Maybe Tony's got something for us."

"Back to New York, then?"

"Might as well," Steve answered resignedly, staring at the crater in front of them. Where are you going, Bucky?


	9. So I Can Leave This World Tonight

**9\. So I Can Leave This World Tonight**

Natasha set the charges carefully in the mostly empty rooms around the basement. The Soldier (Bucky?) waited for her by the elevators, looking menacing. Him arriving here was… unexpected, to say the least. With Steve certainly searching for him, she wondered if he might show up, too. She couldn't say for sure, but he seemed agitated, his attention constantly moving between her, the monitors, the elevator, and the remaining rooms she hadn't reached yet. It set her on edge. Well, more than she had been already.

Finished, she made her way to where he was waiting. He pressed the button for the elevator as another explosion somewhere above rocked the foundation a little, some more debris raining down on them. "Is it going to keep working?" she asked.

He looked at her sharply. "Probably," he answered after a moment, possibly surprised she had spoken.

"There aren't any stairs," she explained.

"I didn't plan for any interruptions," he replied coldly and she smirked.

"Maybe you should have."

The elevator doors opened at last and he turned to face her, waiting. After a moment, she walked in, and he followed, selecting the ground floor. "I could have killed you right away," he suggested emotionlessly.

"I'm glad you didn't," she assured him, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall. He stood in the center of the elevator, weight evenly spread out to keep his balance as the explosions above caused more disturbances as they got closer. It didn't bother her that her back slid back and forth slightly on the wall as a result of the charges. She was somewhat surprised that the elevator didn't have some kind of automatic shutdown mechanism for this kind of situation.

The elevator doors opened at last and the sound of gunfire filled her ears. She glanced at the Soldier, who paused only for the briefest second before stepping forward calmly, as though there weren't bullets occasionally whizzing passed. She followed more slowly, looking both ways to make sure no one was going to take a shot at her. On the left, she saw a man duck behind the corner, then shoot at them from cover. She pulled back and watched the Soldier take out one of his pistols and fire once in that direction without more than a cursory glance. The assailant went down. She rubbed the mostly-healed wound on her shoulder thoughtfully as she hurried to catch up with him.

She hadn't been disarmed and drew both of her pistols, ready to defend herself. She contemplated the idea of shooting the Soldier, but Steve would never forgive her. And she'd have to shoot to kill in order to escape; he would just keep coming otherwise. The thought made her shudder and she came to a stop a few yards behind him. He turned the corner in the hallway, apparently oblivious to her. Or maybe just uninterested. She stared after him, jaw clenched, weighing her options.

"Natalia. You won't be able to leave here without me," his voice drifted back to her quietly.

She wondered if he cared either way. He'd taken her intel, though, and was destroying the only way to get it again. Victor would be very unhappy when she explained to him that she'd allowed it to escape her and was now in possibly the most secure location it could be. Steve may have started to break Bucky's programming, but the Winter Soldier was still alive and well. And had been a story used to scare new recruits for over fifty years. She'd read the file; they weren't just stories. No other asset, regardless of training, could take him. Victor had some tricks up his sleeve, but not enough to address this challenge.

So she followed the ghost obediently, knowing that the only reason she'd survived being on the Soldier's list before was Rogers. Their earlier encounter was survivable because she hadn't been on the list. So she owed Steve this, at least. To follow his best friend and try to get him to come home. And, if not, at least give Steve a way to reach him. The Soldier walked ahead, never slowing, but never in a hurry, as he moved confidently through a maze of corridors. She wasn't sure where they were or how to leave the building from here, not that she wouldn't have been able to figure it out if presented the opportunity. It wasn't how she'd planned on conducting her mission, and they had passed all of the alternate routes she'd considered. They occasionally encountered remaining HYDRA agents, whom he dispatched easily without even slowing down. Sometimes the ceiling had fallen in or other obstacles presented themselves, and he used his cybernetic arm to clear a path. It was a pretty easy trip for her.

Finally, they were outside. The building rocked violently behind them; the charges she set must be going off. There was a lot of smoke and flames and she pulled her sleeve over her face to breathe more easily, suddenly envying his mask. Ahead of them, she could make out the shapes of men standing by a van. She counted seven and moved so that the Soldier was between her and them. He didn't seem concerned with their presence, so they must be his men. The thought wasn't particularly reassuring.

"Report," he ordered, coming to a halt a couple yards away from the group.

"All went according to plan, sir. Four casualties on our side, but we got 'em all," one of the men told the Soldier.

He nodded, and turned around to look at the destruction. She glanced back and couldn't help but be impressed. In a few moments, it would be impossible to tell what had been here.

"Sir, is she…?" the man who had spoken said quietly, leaning almost conspiratorially toward the Soldier. She resisted the urge to smile grimly. Being recognized was becoming unavoidable.

"Coming with us," the Soldier answered, unmoved.

"But isn't she the Black Widow?" another man whispered urgently.

The Soldier cocked his head slightly to face her. "Yes."

Three of the men standing around had clearly heard of her. They muttered to each other and looked at her darkly. "But, sir," one of them began.

The Soldier turned slowly to face the speaker, who fell silent immediately. "Let's go," he said in a tone that brooked no further discussion.

The men scrambled to do as they were told. One climbed quickly into the driver's seat of the van, while the others piled into the back. The Soldier remained still until all were inside. Natasha mimicked him, waiting until he turned to look at her and nodded slightly in the direction of the door. The back seats were all filled and the front set was empty. She holstered her pistols and climbed into these while he got in the front passenger seat. As soon as the doors were closed, they set off.

Natasha kept careful track of where they were going, and was a little surprised when they drove to the airport. She was less surprised when they drove away from all the commercial activity and to a small tower in the back. There was a sleek new plane waiting for them, and she quickly climbed out of the van when they came to a halt. The other men hurried to do the same, but the Soldier took his time. She waited uncertainly, checking her surroundings and contemplated an escape attempt as he collected a duffel from the back and swung it over his right shoulder. The men had opened the hatch to the plane and were already inside.

"You coming?" he asked in Russian, walking passed her.

"Do I have a choice?" she responded sharply, in the same tongue.

He stopped and looked at her. She wished she could see his face and get some idea what he was thinking. His body language was carefully neutral; no doubt the result of extensive training. So maybe seeing his face would have not been informative anyway. She was out of her depth, which hadn't happened in a long time. "Yes," he answered after a pause, continuing to give her nothing.

"Why?" she wanted to know, eyes narrowing.

He shrugged. "You aren't HYDRA."

"Are you going to give me my drive back?" she tried.

He cocked his head at her. "No."

"Why not?"

He turned away and walked toward the plane. "I need it," he replied as he jumped easily up several feet into the vehicle.

She clenched her teeth and jogged after him. "Bucky," she hissed in annoyance as she reached the hatch.

The men inside were carefully not watching them. He whipped around with surprising speed and grabbed the front of her suit with his left hand, lifting her off the ground. "Not here," he snarled in Russian. He set her, not gently, on the floor of the plane and pushed her away from him. "Take her to the back," he ordered his men, swinging his duffel off his shoulder and putting it on the ground in front of him.

Two men hurried forward and grabbed her by the shoulders as the Soldier crouched and unzipped the duffel. They seemed a little in awe of her, so maybe having the reputation she did wasn't all bad. She didn't struggle and they weren't rough as they guided her to a private cabin at the back of the plane. The main area had three tables on either side with comfortable-looking chairs attached to the floor next to them, and a walkway in between. The private cabin contained a large bed, which looked unused, and a bathroom area behind a partition. There was a door to the whole thing and it was slammed shut as soon as she was inside.

She walked over to one of the windows and peered out at the small tower. It startled her when a projectile of some sort went from their plane into the building. When it exploded spectacularly a moment later, she supposed it was an RPG or something similar. She shook her head slowly. Was he just destroying everything or had there been some reason for this? The blast shook the small plane a little, and then she could hear the hatch being slammed shut and the engines starting.

The door opened and she turned back, leaning against the window with her arms crossed, affecting a calm disposition. She had no idea how stable he was, after what they'd done to him, and she figured she'd have to play this carefully. The Soldier stepped in and shut the door behind him, facing her. The plane taxied down the runway and she was struck by the silence of the men behind the door. The silence from the Soldier was less surprising as he regarded her. Well, she assumed that's what he was doing; there was no way to tell.

"So, don't call you Bucky," she said conversationally.

The plane took off and he automatically reached with one hand, his right, to hold onto the door frame behind him. His grip looked a little tighter than was necessary, she noted, spreading her feet to keep her balance and pressing her back harder against the wall. His other hand was a clenched into a fist. He didn't otherwise move until they levelled out, which took quite some time. She remained perfectly still, too, perplexed by his behavior. Taking stock of him, she was surprised to find that he had removed all of the weaponry that had been attached to his clothes. Except his metal arm, of course, which she supposed was enough to defend against her. She wondered why no one had taken any of her gear: not that she planned on pointing out this oversight.

"It's not something I advertise," he answered finally, stepping away from the door.

Momentarily at a loss, she stared at him before remembering her question. "Oh," she muttered.

There was a chair next to the bed. He went to it and sat down, pulling his mask off and rubbing his face with his right hand. When he looked back at her, she couldn't help but feel a little startled at the sight of him. She'd seen his eyes before, when they fought, and had seen pictures of Bucky and the Soldier in stasis. But somehow neither of those prepared her for how… human he looked. He seemed tired and maybe a little confused, and not at all like the killing machine she knew him to be. Her reaction must have showed somehow on her face because his brow furrowed as he watched her.

"You saved me some time, getting that drive," he explained quietly, possibly misreading her expression. "I would have hated to lose all that information."

"You're welcome," she answered hesitantly. "I am going to need it back, though."

He nodded, looking away from her. "When I'm done."

"Done with what?"

He didn't answer, just stared out the window. Then he sighed. "Tell me about Steve."


	10. Full of Fear, Ever Clear

**10\. Full Of Fear, Ever Clear**

He took a deep breath, looking outside at the clouds passing by. It was a comforting sight, and he tried not to think about the ground far below. "Tell me about Steve," he said to Natasha, Natalia?, without turning his gaze toward her.

"What… What about Steve?" she asked.

He wanted to rub his face again, but resisted. She'd looked at him strangely afterward last time and he didn't want to contemplate what she was thinking. "Is he okay?" he asked softly, biting his lip as soon as he said it. It wasn't what he'd intended to ask.

She unfolded her arms, stepped away from the wall she had been leaning against, and sat down on the end of the bed. Less than four feet away. He tensed. "He's fine. I saw him after he left the hospital. They took good care of him," she explained, voice almost soothing. She was leaning forward on her knees to look at him intently.

He clenched his teeth, not wanting to be pacified by her lies. "When did you see him last?" he pressed.

"Maybe a month ago. He was going to come looking for you." She fell silent, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction from him. He gave her none. "Do you want to see him?" she asked finally.

"When I'm done," he repeated calmly, forcing his posture to relax.

"Done with what?" she tried again.

He turned to face her, meeting her eye. "Destroying HYDRA."

* * *

"What the hell is he doing with her?" Jones asked quietly, motioning toward the door.

"You got a problem with the boss getting a little tail?" Pacheco teased.

Edwards smacked him on the back of the head as he walked by. "Watch yourself, man. We lost enough men today. I'd hate to lose some more for asking dumb questions. Whatever the boss wants with her, I can guarantee it's none of our business." He sat down at the table closest to the door. "If you're just projecting what you want, Pacheco, rest assured that you can get some of that when we stop in Spain for a little while."

"What's in Spain?" Jones wanted to know.

"We lost some men, we need to get some new ones. It's as good a place as any," Edwards said with a shrug.

"Meaning you don't know," Ramos muttered.

"Now, men, I may have been here the longest, but I don't have all the answers. Sorry to disappoint." He turned to Jones. "Did you enjoy your first mission, kid?"

"I guess so," Jones answered slowly.

"You guess?" Ramos asked him.

"Do you guys know who the Black Widow is?" Some nodded, most shook their heads. "She's not someone I'm too excited about being on the same plane with," Jones explained, glancing surreptitiously toward the door.

"Because she's poisonous to our species?" Edwards joked.

"Because of her history with the boss."

* * *

"You're going to take down the whole organization by yourself?" she asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

He looked at her, a little surprised at how this seemed to distress her. "I'm not by myself," he said after a moment.

She snorted. "Yeah, you have a few grunts. Against legions of highly-trained spies."

"We didn't need spies before," he said quietly.

Her brow furrowed as she frowned at him briefly. Then she shook her head. "You remember the war?" she inquired, keeping her voice down, glancing briefly toward the door.

"Cloak and dagger tactics aren't as effective as full-scale destruction," he responded evasively. She looked away from him, apparently giving up on pursuing what he did and didn't remember. He turned his attention toward the window, watching the clouds slide by and focused on keeping his muscles loose and not clinging to the chair beneath him when the plane moved noticeably.

"Do you trust me?" she asked suddenly, and he jerked his attention back to her.

"Does Steve?" he countered.

"He does now." A smile tugged at her lips as she stared somewhere in space, likely remembering some relevant event.

"Then I'm open to the possibility," he answered, leaning back in his chair, his fingers wrapping tightly around the arm rests as they hit a bit of turbulence. "But I know you won't be able to stop me. Maybe slow me down a little if you put your mind to it," he added, cocking his head at her.

She smirked at him. "Don't underestimate me, Soldier." He could see the fear flicker behind her eyes despite her bravado.

He smiled coldly. "I've read your file, Widow. I know what you're capable of. And what you're not."

Holding his gaze, she folded her arms over her chest, leaning back a little. "I've read yours."

This was news. "Why?" he asked, surprised, wondering what it said. And if she'd given it to Steve.

She looked away, the confident smirk leaving her face. "Steve asked me to get it and I didn't want to let him go running after a hopeless case. He doesn't deserve that." Her eyes met his and he resisted the urge to break her gaze, to stand up, to leave. "Was I wrong?"

He cleared his throat. "The person Steve is looking for fell off a train seventy years ago," he said flatly.

"So did you."

This time he was unable to resist the urge to move from her scrutiny. He surged to his feet and paced briefly across the room, toward the door and back a few times. Reminding himself that he wasn't wearing his mask, he arrested his hand when it reached toward the door. The men were out there. Whatever they were thinking, he wouldn't break protocol by leaving this room until they landed. So he returned to his seat and leaned back, closing his eyes. He could feel her watching him through all of this, but he ignored her. Eventually, he heard her settle back against the pillows and the silence reigned over the cabin.

* * *

The floor sloped steeply under his feet and he opened his eyes, hands automatically grasping the edge of the chair tightly to keep from sliding. They were landing; he forced himself to calm down. He remembered that the woman, Natasha, was there and he didn't want anyone to see how distressed this kind of thing made him. He glanced at her, still sitting on the bed, though the force of the descent had caused her to lean forward, hands wrapped around the blankets and eyes focused on the door.

"Where are we?" she asked tentatively, eyes flickering in his direction. Her face was guarded, slack; he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"In Spain. Unless there was a problem," he answered.

"Why Spain?"

"Recruiting."

She turned to face him. "Why Spain?" she asked again, raising an eyebrow.

"They speak Spanish," he offered.

Snorting, she shook her head, and got to her feet. "A rather significant population of the world speaks Spanish."

He smiled at her exasperation. "Exactly." She glared at him and he relented. "There isn't a HYDRA presence in Spain, and men found here won't have any conflicting loyalties when we go to South America. And can speak Spanish."

She nodded, and seemed about to reply before a knock at the door interrupted her. Automatically, she fell into a defensive stance, then glanced at him. He rose and walked toward the door, picking up and pulling on his mask as he passed her. When he opened the door, he was not surprised to find Edwards standing there, the rest of the men spread across the cabin behind him and carefully not looking in his direction. Edwards was very intently looking at him and not into the room. Behind his mask, he smiled in amusement at their obvious discomfort.

"Sorry, sir, but we've arrived," the man told him.

"Good. We will take off at 0800. Whoever isn't here will be left behind," he ordered. The men smiled at each other and begin to get ready to disembark.

"How many do you think we need, sir?" Edwards asked, unmoved by the disruption behind him.

"Two or three should be sufficient."

"Thank you, sir. Sir," he added, quietly as he started to close the door. "You're going to stay here with her?"

"Which of us are you worried about?" The room fell silent at his amused tone. Edwards shifted uncomfortably. "Move out, men," he said shortly and closed the door, turning back to Natasha. "I'm afraid I can't give you shore leave," he told her.

She smirked. "No? Think I might run?"

"No. But I don't want to risk you calling Steve to come fetch me."

"Is that the only reason you're keeping me around?" she asked, looking meaningfully toward the door.

He crossed over to the chair and sank into it again, without removing his mask. "Steve seems fond of you and I think you'll be in some trouble if you're found without that drive."

"Which you're not going to give me."

"Not yet."

She sighed and leaned against the wall, looking at him intently. "So, what are we going to do until your men get back?"

He pulled his duffel over to him with his foot and bent to take out his laptop. "Find the next target."


	11. I'll Be Here, Fighting Forever

**11\. I'll Be Here, Fighting Forever**

"Back so soon, Cap? Did you miss me?" Tony asked as Steve walked down the gangplank.

"Terribly," Steve replied with a smile. "Any progress?"

"Sorry, birdman, but we're still working on your wings," he said regretfully to Sam as the latter came to a stop beside Steve. "But JARVIS got the file translated. Where do you want it?"

"I've been putting everything on this drive," Steve answered, handing it over.

"Come on in, guys," Tony called as he walked into the tower. "Help yourself to a drink," he added as he waved at the bar he was walking passed.

"Maybe later," Steve answered, following him to a console and folding his arms across his chest as he watched Tony insert the drive and type a few commands.

"Well, I'm thirsty," Sam called after them and Steve could hear glasses clinking.

"I thought you soldiers loved your alcohol," Tony said conversationally as he pulled out the physical file and handed it to Steve.

"Advanced metabolism means I can't get drunk, so it's kind of a waste of time these days," Steve said with a shrug.

"You want me to work a solution to that problem?"

Steve snorted. "You that bored?"

Smiling, Tony shook his head. "Always looking out for new projects. I'll keep it in mind. Your boy might be in the same predicament and I think he'll probably want to imbibe when you bring him in."

"Your contributions to the mission are always appreciated," Steve replied graciously, smirking.

"Sir, I think there's something Capt. Rogers should see," JARVIS interrupted.

"Well, go ahead and show us, then," Tony said impatiently.

The progress bar on the screen before them minimized and several news reports appeared instead. They were in Slavic languages, the scrolls in Cyrillic, and featured different angle shots of a power plant on a river, the Dnieper, apparently, exploding in flames. Shadowy figures were captured by one report leaving the premises, and Steve squinted at them intently, feeling his heart skip a beat as he tried to determine if he knew them.

"Is it him?" he asked finally, softly.

"The footage does not allow for positive facial recognition, sir, but the height and build are correct," JARVIS answered as one of the figures was circled in white.

"Where is this?" Steve wanted to know, frowning intently.

"Six miles north of Kiev, Ukraine, sir."

"How old is the footage?"

"It's broadcasting live."

"Can you send this to my laptop?" Tony nodded. "Sam! We're leaving!" Steve shouted, turning quickly away from the monitor and striding back the way he had come.

* * *

Tony offered to accompany them, but Steve declined, saying it was likely just going to be reconnaissance anyway. It wasn't like Bucky would stick around to survey his handiwork for the several hours it would take them to catch up. And, anyway, he'd sort of promised Pepper not to go off in his suits anymore, and Steve wouldn't let him break his promise to someone so important to him. Sam finished his drink quickly, grimacing, and followed Steve back out of the tower.

"Good luck!" Tony called, tossing the finished drive at Steve.

"Where we going, Cap?" Sam asked, jogging up the gangplank as Steve caught the device easily.

"Kiev, Ukraine," Steve replied, hastening after him and strapping himself in the pilot's seat.

"What happened?" Sam strapped himself in as well and began the pre-flight checklist.

"JARVIS brought up a news report of a power plant being destroyed. It looks like Bucky did it."

"Was it HYDRA?"

Steve shrugged, completing the list and taking off. "I don't know. But maybe. Why else would he take it down? Pretty explosively, like the one in Brazil."

"It's going to take us a few hours. You think he'll still be in the neighborhood?"

"It's the only lead we've got."

Sam nodded and they fell silent, focused on the flight. Steve let him take over and uploaded the file onto his computer, the news reports playing in the background. He searched for Kiev, Ukraine in the file and his brow furrowed at what he found. It seemed that there was a base near those coordinates, though it did not specify being on the Dnieper. The updates done on the Winter Soldier there were of an unsavory nature, and he felt a little sick reading some of the work they had done. Not all of it was done to Bucky; they'd tested it out on other prisoners first. They didn't want to risk their perfect weapon.

The flight took a long time. After a while, Steve took over and Sam got some rest. Steve tried not to think about all the things that had happened to his friend since he'd fallen. If this was the place he had spent most of his time, it was not surprising that Bucky would want to destroy it thoroughly. Steve brought up the still picture of the figure that might be Bucky. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't be sure. There were others around him, difficult to identify. One appeared to be closer to him than the rest and seemed quite a bit smaller. He frowned. Then forced himself to focus on flying. It was a long way to go yet.

Finally, they reached the Zhuliany International Airport. It was under high alert because someone had shot an RPG into the tower dedicated to private air travel. They were still allowed to land, but it was obvious they weren't welcome to stay. Steve explained that he was investigating the attack on the power plant, which wasn't a lie, and they sounded a little relieved. It was hard to tell; their English wasn't good and he wasn't even sure if they were speaking Russian or Ukrainian to each other.

"Why do you think he destroyed the tower?" Sam asked. He seemed agitated. Steve wondered if he was getting worried about actually finding Bucky.

"I don't know," Steve admitted, taxiing the plane to the location the tower had designated.

"Steve," Sam insisted, and Steve looked over at him. "Do you think it was to slow us down?"

Steve frowned. "Do you think he could have known we would come here?"

Sam shrugged. "He's a smart guy, he'd know that this would make the news. Was there anything about this place in his file?"

"Yeah, he spent a lot of time here. Being experimented on," Steve growled, looking away.

"Well, if he knows about it, he could assume that we do, too."

"You're right. Well, let's go see what he left behind," Steve added resignedly.

* * *

The base was even more destroyed than the one in Brazil. It seemed to have gone deeply underground, and perhaps the other one hadn't, so that might account for the difference. Local authorities had cordoned off the place and were trying to keep as much debris as possible from falling in the river. Steve lent his super strength to the task, resulting in the authorities allowing him and Sam to inspect the area closer. It didn't tell them much, though. They returned to the airport and looked into the destroyed tower as well, and discovered it had a basement with a great deal of technological equipment in it. That was unusual, and Sam suggested that it may have been heavily used by HYDRA planes going to and from the power plant. Steve agreed that it was suspicious, and Bucky would probably have thought so as well.

They had spent three hours in Ukraine and it was long passed dusk. Steve was feeling dead on his feet (when had he last slept?) but didn't really want to stay the night there. Sam offered to fly, and Steve took him up on it. He lay down on the benches in the back of the quinjet and stared at the ceiling. The sound of the engines was somehow calming as they went along, the reflections of the lights below occasionally illuminating the interior of the jet. Despite his exhaustion, Steve was a little too excited to sleep. Maybe excited wasn't the right word, but he was energized every time he thought about finally having a lead on Bucky.

"Hey, Cap," Sam said, pulling Steve out of his thoughts.

"What's up?"

"I'd feel a little better filling up on gas before we go across the Atlantic," Sam explained, almost apologetically.

"Yeah, good thinking," Steve answered, swinging his feet to the floor and standing. He stretched, then went to sit down in the cockpit. "Where are we?"

"Southern Europe. Any preferences?"

"I can speak Spanish; how about Spain?" Steve said after a moment.

"You know Spain Spanish is not exactly like Mexican Spanish, right?" Sam asked, altering their course.

"I don't see you volunteering any language skills," Steve responded.

"Fine, fine, I'll just sit back and look good while you chat up the locals. As usual."

Steve laughed. "That's why I brought you along."

After some negotiation with the tower, they were permitted to land and refuel. The two men took the opportunity to walk around on the tarmac a little before being cooped up in the plane for a few more hours. After pacing thoughtfully for a while, Steve noticed Sam standing some yards from their plane, staring intently ahead. He walked over to him, following his gaze. It was dark, still, but the sun was rising and the area was pretty well-lit. He couldn't see anything remarkable about the numerous other planes around them.

"What is it?"

"Are redheads common in Spain? Because I think I just saw Natasha," Sam said slowly.

"Where?" Steve asked sharply, turning abruptly to search for any sign of her.

"In that plane." Sam paused, glancing at him. "What kind of plane was it that fired on that tower in Kiev?"

"That kind," Steve answered with a sinking feeling. "I'm going to go check it out. Stay here, but have your radio on. I may need backup."

"Like hell you will," Sam growled, but stayed where he was when Steve started walking, flicking the switch on his radio as he went.

"Channel secure?" he asked.

"Secure," Sam's voice crackled in his ear.

With the sun just rising, Steve could make out a group of men approaching the plane. They were further away than he was, though, and he hurried to reach it from the opposite side. Once he was standing below it, he paused uncertainly. Was he just going to knock on the door? No, that wouldn't be wise. Even with Sam as backup, they weren't exactly prepared for something unexpected.

The hatch to the plane opened as the men approached and he heard the sound of footsteps descending the gangplank. Steve moved forward silently, toward the steps, around the landing gear. He held his breath, forcing himself not to think about how this encounter might go. The mercenaries were still about ten yards away. Sam could rescue him if he did something incredibly stupid, like he was contemplating. There were two figures standing before him; he could see their shadows.

"Nat?" he murmured as he moved forward enough to see her. And the person standing next to her. "Bucky?!" he stammered, looking between the two of them.

Both of them whipped around to stare at him. Natasha looked guilty. Bucky was wearing a mask. "Not yet, Steve," Bucky said calmly and glanced over at Natasha. Before either of them could react, he had grabbed one of the electrified discs from her belt and tossed it at Steve. Pain exploded everywhere and he was vaguely aware of hitting the concrete before it all went black.


	12. Curious, Venomous

**A/N: Thank you to anyone who's favorited, followed, or given a review :)**

**12\. Curious, Venomous**

Natasha stood against the wall of the interior cabin of the plane, staring intently at the Winter Soldier. Bucky. Whoever he was these days. He was again seated in the chair near the bed, facing one of the windows and ignoring her inspection. He was still wearing his mask and held very still, perhaps asleep. Somehow, she didn't think so. "Not yet, Steve," his words echoed in her head and her brow furrowed in thought. She had been too surprised by Steve's presence to react when the Soldier had taken one of her discs and tossed it at his (former?) friend. Well, that's what she told herself. Maybe she had just been too apprehensive about getting in the way of the Soldier, particularly if it meant being between him and Captain America. If they were clashing, she didn't want to be around.

There you go, Romanoff, saving your own skin, she thought to herself. She'd thought she had changed since she left the KGB. Collaboration was important these days, and she owed it to Steve to stick with him. Even if it meant hanging out with his brainwashed best friend. She didn't think cognitive recalibration would be quite as effective on Bucky as it had been on Clint. Clint had just been controlled, not had parts of his brain burned away. Or at least electroshocked away. The files were meticulously detailed technically, but a little out of her realm of expertise to follow. In any case, this was different.

After Steve was knocked out (momentarily) from the electrical charge, the Soldier had dragged him by the collar out of the way of their plane. She had noted how careful he seemed to be, perhaps remembering how he'd put Steve in the hospital for a few days after their last encounter. The mercenaries had arrived with two new recruits, and all were staring wide-eyed at the three of them. Without comment, the Soldier had released his grip on the dazed super soldier and gone placidly back into the plane. The men followed and reported to him. She had gone to check on Steve. His radio was blaring static.

* * *

"Steve!" a distorted voice broke through the noise as she leaned closer.

Glancing back at the plane, she tentatively picked up the device and pressed the button. "Sam?" she guessed.

"Natasha! What the hell are you doing here?" Sam demanded. "Why isn't Steve answering me?"

"He's unconscious," she replied, standing up straight and surveying the runway. There was a quinjet some hundred yards away, a familiar figure standing nearby. She sighed. "Stay there, Sam," she added, ignoring the expletives the soldier was directing at her.

"If you hurt him," he began ominously.

"I won't. I didn't. It was Bucky," she murmured.

"What?!"

"Listen, I have to go. Come get Steve after we take off. Then maybe you guys should hang back a little. I'll bring the Soldier in as soon as I can, but he's not willing right now," she whispered hurriedly, seeing movement on the plane.

"This isn't at all how I thought our working relationship would go," Sam muttered.

She smirked. "Well, there's always next time."

"Natalia."

She dropped the radio, checked Steve's pulse, then walked back to the plane, where the Soldier stood looking down at her. "Shall we?" she asked, brushing passed him and ignoring the men's stares.

His fingers wrapped around her forearm, arresting her movement. "It's not time yet," he hissed in Russian before releasing her. She lingered uncertainly for a moment, then strode to the private cabin, shutting the door behind her. After a few minutes, the Soldier had entered and glanced briefly in her direction before dropping into the chair. Now she watched him silently, wondering what exactly he had meant by that comment.

It was perplexing that the Soldier was willing to allow her to accompany him, but not Steve. She was certainly more knowledgeable about his past than he allowed his men to be, particularly apparent since he didn't let them see his face. If he was upset to see Steve again, he hadn't shown it. He had been calm throughout the experience, and continued to be so now. She didn't know him, not like Steve did, but she suspected that it was a façade. The Soldier had been able to control the physical manifestations of his distress when they had taken off, not on edge like he'd obviously been before. That may have been act, but she suspected he was now keeping a tighter rein on himself because of what happened with Steve.

"Where are we going?" she asked abruptly, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, looking up at him.

"South America." The Soldier's response was emotionless enough to be almost mechanical.

"Anywhere in particular?" Natasha pressed, stretching out her legs in front of her.

"Yep."

She sighed. "You know, if you'd kept me in the loop, I could have warned you what kind of plane Steve would probably come after you in."

"I know."

"Not going to let me help you?"

"Not yet."

Natasha wasn't sure, but she suspected his detached tone was hiding a growing volatility, so she let it go. It wasn't a good idea to antagonize someone in his position. She may or may not be a prisoner; she figured she'd better assume she was, even if he had said the choice to be here was hers. So she made herself comfortable and hoped Steve okay.

* * *

Eventually, they landed. The Soldier got to his feet as soon as they had set down, still taxiing, and strode out of the cabin. Natasha watched him go carefully, but still found him to be unreadable. She climbed slowly to her feet and went to the door, leaning against the frame. The mercenaries were gathering their weapons and glancing curiously between the Soldier and her, conversing quietly. She ignored them and watched the Soldier attaching weapons to his various harnesses.

"Stand down and wait here," the Soldier ordered, the men falling silent as soon as he began to speak. "Natalia, with me," he added in Russian. She glanced at the other men and gauged whether or not they'd understood. The Soldier had stopped and was facing her. She nodded and started forward, checking absently on her own weaponry.

The hatch was opened and the Soldier jumped out, landing solidly on both feet a yard below. She slipped out after him. They were on a short runway; a larger plane could never have landed here. There was jungle all around them and the heat was staggering. The concrete under them went into some kind of bunker, sloping down abruptly and broken only by a very secure-looking large door. The Soldier was striding toward it. Natasha glanced back at the plane, then followed him, drawing her pistols.

"Is this another base?" she murmured.

"Yes."

"HYDRA's?"

"Mine."

She stopped in her tracks. "Yours?"

"It may have been infiltrated while we were gone," he explained, lifting a small panel beside the door and placing his thumb on the scanner hidden there. There was the sound of something heavy and mechanical, and he pulled open the door. "Ladies first," he said, stepping back.

She frowned at him, tightened her grip on her pistols, and stepped into the dark interior. She moved slowly, letting her eyes adjust before she got too far. The front room was mostly empty and about twenty feet by fifteen, a few tables stacked against the wall. There was a corridor to the right that extended thirty feet, with doors on either side, probably barracks. Ahead, the floor sloped sharply down and was wide enough for a truck to drive down. There were only two doors this direction, both on the right side. The left was just a blank wall.

Heading for the furthest door, she didn't wait to see what the Soldier would do. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she descended the slope. A single yellow bulb was hung every few feet down the center of the hallway, but the corners remained enshrouded in darkness. She was aware that the Soldier had gone down the corridor to the right. The doors were both locked, but she managed to open them with a little persistence.

The furthest door opened onto a narrow room that was less than ten feet wide but twenty feet long. It was empty, but there was a door at the opposite end. Checking to make sure the door she was walking through would not trap her there, she closed the distance to the other side and found this door to be unlocked. It opened onto a room containing a cot, a rickety table, and a metal deck chair. The left armrest of the chair had been dented deeply. The room was twenty feet long and about ten feet wide, the length now to her left instead of in front of her. There was also a water closet and another door. She checked the area then opened the second door. It was locked, and took a few tries to get open. The room inside was easily twenty feet by twenty and empty. Except for a few restraints on the walls.

Her inspection led her back out onto the large hallway where she had started. As soon as she opened the door, the Soldier appeared before her. He could move pretty quietly for a big guy, she thought, hiding her surprise.

"All clear?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He turned and walked further down, to the second door. "I assume you'd rather not bunk with the men," he said quietly.

"Preferably," she answered, following him into the narrow room.

"Stay here. I'll see what I can do." He pulled the door shut after she entered and she was left in the empty space.

* * *

Natasha had been on many missions, had stayed a lot of places, catching sleep when she could. A man came and brought in a cot for her, and she was otherwise left alone. After a while, the Soldier opened the inner door, which clearly led to his quarters, and brought a laptop. She helped him access the information he had acquired, much of which was heavily encrypted. He spoke very little to her, and she had a difficult time reading him, even with his mask removed. A part of her wondered if there was anything to read. His mission was to destroy HYDRA; it was entirely possible that there was nothing else on his mind. For her part, she kept her thoughts to herself and considered how she was going to do what she'd promised Sam. And Steve.

The intel the Soldier had gathered, both from the base in Ukraine and beforehand, provided the locations of eleven recently-used bases. It was impossible to tell if they were still utilized, but that didn't seem to matter to him. After a few hours of sleep, they set out again. Natasha was surprised to find that new recruits were assimilated into the ranks seamlessly, and she couldn't even be sure who they were. It set her on edge. It was less surprising that the Soldier kept his men's loyalty through encouraging fear of him. His mythos certainly leant itself to that kind of reaction, and the mask made him seem inhuman. Even having been taken into his confidence, apparently, did little to lessen her own fear of the ghost. Though perhaps her reasoning was different from the mercenaries'.

After the complete destruction of each base, they always returned to the bunker. All the mercenaries were taken every time, and it was made to look abandoned when they were gone. The Soldier and Natasha went in first to gather intel, and, after the third base, he allowed her to go in alone for this. She found herself surprisingly pleased by that show of trust; not as pleased as when Steve expressed his faith in her at Sam's house, but still. It made her resist attempting any kind of contact with the rest of the world for two more bases. Then she sent a message to Steve, updating him on the situation. It was encrypted, she couldn't be sure he'd get it, and it felt a little like betrayal of the Soldier, but she thought he needed to be kept informed so he didn't do anything reckless.

Returning from that mission, she paced the floor of her quarters, deep in thought. She didn't feel too bad about contacting Steve, though she didn't want the Soldier to know. But something was definitely wrong and she was trying to figure out how to approach it properly. The Soldier was unstable; not often, but things weren't as well-in-hand as he wanted his men to think. She could hear him, faintly, through the walls. Wrestling with his demons, she supposed. As they brought down more abandoned and nearly empty bases, where there were few casualties on HYDRA's side and none on theirs, she could tell he was losing his grip. They were only half done, but air travel was clearly a problem for him.

She stopped pacing and walked over to the door connecting her quarters to his. It had been locked as long as she'd been here. Taking a deep breath, she knocked. "Bucky?"


	13. You'll Find Me Climbing to Heaven

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been enjoying this story :) Only two chapters after this!**

**12\. You'll Find Me Climbing To Heaven**

The Soldier was looking down at his left arm, flexing it and watching how the metal plates moved. It was fascinating and distracted him from where his thoughts were taking him. Nine bases successfully destroyed was an accomplishment, he told himself. Even if only the one in the Ukraine had contained any relevant intel, and very few HYDRA agents had been neutralized. It was still progress. Still something that would keep them from getting him, from making him into the Soldier again.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. "Bucky?" Natasha's voice.

He shook his head to clear it and walked over to the door, pausing a moment before opening it. "Natasha," he said evenly.

"Something's wrong," she told him, her expression serious.

He cocked his head at her silently, standing in the door frame. She stood a few paces away, arms crossed over her chest, looking at him intently. "What's wrong?" he asked finally, when it became clear she was waiting for a response.

"Don't you think so?" she pressed, eyes narrowing.

Licking his lips, he looked toward his desk uncertainly. "You mean because the bases are empty?"

"Yeah."

"Like they know we're coming."

Natasha nodded and leaned to her left, trying to catch his eye. "Exactly."

He turned back to her. "Perhaps they've evacuated all of them after we destroyed the first few," he offered.

"Perhaps," she echoed.

"You think we have a mole."

"I do."

Sighing, he stepped away from the door and sank into the chair by his laptop. "We don't tell any of the men where we are going before we set out." He paused, thinking. "It is suspicious, though. Do you have experience identifying moles?"

She snorted. "Operatives are usually trained to be unquestioning when it comes to orders." She looked meaningfully at him and he looked away.

"What would you suggest? Because my experience with that sort of thing generally results in my killing everyone involved, just in case."

"Hopefully we can avoid that," she answered.

* * *

The Soldier stood in his quarters, staring at the door to Natasha's quarters. Outside, it was quiet. There were some sounds coming from the barracks, of course, but nothing unusual. He considered the men he had working for him: Edwards, Pacheco, Lough, Jones, Ramos, Rocha, Schmidt, Rodriguez, Perez, and Diaz. Most had been recruited in Europe, a few in South America. He hadn't been to Russia or North America since he'd started breaking his programming. It was taking enough effort to keep himself under control without visiting locations that might make things worse.

Though he knew each of the men by sight, and could as quickly determine what their combat skillset was, he had not done much digging on any of them. He could tell a HYDRA operative by looking, however, and felt reasonably assured that none of these men had been part of that organization. That didn't mean they weren't selling information to them now, or working for someone else who might want to thwart what he was doing. When Natasha suggested an issue with security, he hadn't been particularly surprised. It was what came from commanding loyalty through fear; he'd seen it before.

It was getting worse. Memories were returning rapidly but not coherently. A simple movement on his part might bring back a dozen times he had done something similar. He had to keep away from the men, and Natasha, more than he normally would have. He supposed that was how this problem had arisen. He'd been walking a delicate line between how much he needed to make sure he was seen to keep his power, and how much he could be seen before his instability became obvious. He assumed that Natasha was aware, to some extent, what was happening to him. It was why he'd allowed her to stay; he wasn't sure he could have continued without someone else there he didn't have to hide quite so much from. She knew who he was, what had happened to him. She knew Steve.

Steve had looked betrayed when they'd seen him in Spain. But not just betrayed by his best friend; the look had definitely been a reaction to seeing Natasha with the Soldier. That she hadn't told Steve his friend had been found. The Soldier supposed the two of them might be making sure the bases were empty before they arrived, as a preventative measure to keep him from killing more people. If the HYDRA agents were imprisoned somewhere instead of burning down with their bases, he supposed he didn't really mind. The people who had done this to him were dead. Some he'd killed himself. Others died of old age. A few were killed by other enemies. In any case, those who worked in the bases he was hell-bent on destroying were of little consequence to him personally. But their creed held the belief that killing one of them must bring two more, so he was certainly not going to allow any to escape. He merely trusted Steve to make the right call when it came to taking prisoners.

However, if Natasha and Steve were the reason for the problem, why had she come to tell him about it? Unless it was for the specific purpose of making him ask that question, of course. He sighed and rubbed his face with his flesh hand. There was no doubt that Natasha was a better spy than he was. He wasn't going to try to work out the labyrinthine motivations behind the actions of a potential double agent.

The sound of shouts greeted him and he pulled his mask on quickly before exiting his quarters. His footsteps resounded on the concrete floor as he strode across the former interrogation room (he'd thought he might not need it again), and then up the ramp where the mercenaries were gathered. It was their shouts he had heard.

"What is it?" he growled.

The closest man, Jones, turned around quickly. "Sir, it's the Black Widow. She's escaping! She took your computer!"

Others shouted similar things at him, and he pushed his way through the crowd, which was hesitantly streaming out the door. Once outside, he saw Natasha holding one of the men, Perez, in front of her with her gun to his head. His laptop was tucked under her arm and she was glaring down the men.

"Don't try anything stupid," she warned, ducking behind the taller man, so even the Soldier wouldn't have been able to hit her. Well, not without going through Edwards.

"Where are you going to go, Natalia?" he asked quietly, halting a few yards away.

"The hell out of here," she snapped.

"I need my intel."

"Too bad."

With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his pistol and shot Edwards in the stomach. The bullet went through him and hit her. He couldn't be sure right away whether it went through her or not, but both dropped to the ground hard. Striding forward, he dragged Edwards away from her and lifted her using his metal arm. "Take him inside," he ordered over his shoulder. "I'll take care of her."

Men rushed forward to take their comrade into the bunker, and hopefully to patch him up. The wound was mostly superficial; it would hurt but wasn't fatal. Not without prompt medical attention. Natasha held one hand over her belly, glaring up at him as blood seeped through her fingers, the other grasping his wrist tightly. He pulled her away by her shoulder, over to one of the parked vans. With his right hand, he opened the door, then pushed her inside.

* * *

"I can't believe he shot you!" Jones hissed at Edwards, who opened his eyes to glare.

"Neither can I," he growled, before closing them again. Pacheco was pulling his shirt open and he snarled in pain at the movement.

"I told you we should watch out for her," Jones said darkly to the rest of the room.

"Did someone get the laptop?" Perez asked quietly.

The men looked at each other. "I'll get it," Diaz volunteered at last.

"Better put it back in his room," Edwards ordered, his voice growing faint as Pacheco began stitching him up.

"I'll take it," Lough offered.

* * *

Before long, Edwards was unconscious. He was moved to his bunk and the others spoke quietly to each other in the mess. The Soldier did not appear to be coming back any time soon. After a while, they settled down enough to sleep. For the first time, they kept a watch going all night, switching every two hours. None of them voiced what they were watching for.

An hour before dawn, the van the Soldier had taken returned. As he got out of the vehicle, it became apparent he wasn't alone. And wasn't driving. He ordered them to line up outside. They did as asked, except for Edwards, of course. The Soldier was as heavily armed as he usually was on a mission, and paced in front of them while they followed orders. He stopped when they were arranged, and turned back to the van. The Black Widow climbed out, seemingly none the worse for wear. The men stared as she came to stand next to the Soldier.

"Our mission was to destroy HYDRA. Somehow, we keep destroying bases but no agents. We get no relevant intel. It's as though someone doesn't want us to," the Soldier growled through his mask. The men carefully didn't look at each other, but shock and dismay shone on quite a few faces. Not all of them, though.

"It's surprising that anyone would be willing to risk being on the wrong side of the Winter Soldier's wrath," the Widow interjected. "Imagine our surprise when we find that not just one of you, but several were willing."

The Soldier drew his pistol while she spoke, then calmly fired a single shot into the heads of Pacheco and Schmidt. They dropped, and the others jumped and looked for somewhere to run. The Soldier was too fast, and blocked their escape back into the bunker. He reached out and caught Lough by the throat with his metal hand.

"You will tell us who you are working for," he ordered.

Lough stuttered something unintelligible while the remaining mercenaries stared. The Widow was behind them, training her pistols on them. The Soldier's fingers closed more tightly around his windpipe and he began to gasp, hands clawing at the bionic appendage. Abruptly, Lough was released and tossed with bone-shattering impact into the bunker's concrete exterior. Before he could recover himself in any way, the Soldier had picked him up again. This repeated a few times, until Lough's face was bruised and bloody. Then he screamed something in Russian at the Widow as he lay on the ground before the Soldier had reached him again. The Soldier paused, glancing at her, and she nodded. Then he snapped the neck of the traitor and walked calmly back inside. The rest followed when the Widow motioned them to do so.

* * *

"You alright?" The Soldier stood awkwardly leaning against the doorframe between their quarters. Natasha was pulling off the Kevlar vest she had been wearing, wincing as she did so.

"I've had worse." She paused. "From you, actually," she added with a smirk.

He smiled slightly. "Who were they working for?"

Her smile vanished. "Victor. The man who sent me after those files."

"Why?" he asked, frowning.

She shook her head slowly. "To get me, I suppose. Not that he'd turn down getting you as well. He may not be worse than HYDRA, but the world would be a better place without him."

"Then let's go get him," he suggested matter-of-factly.

"We're going to need backup for that," she told him seriously.

He sighed deeply. "Fine."


	14. Never Mind, Turn Back Time

**14\. Never Mind, Turn Back Time**

"Not yet, Steve," Bucky's voice echoed in his head. He was sitting in the back of the quinjet, face in his hands, thinking. Sam was flying. He didn't care where they were going; it didn't matter. Not toward Bucky.

Steve had awakened groggily on the tarmac, Sam standing over him, shouting at him. He'd jumped to his feet immediately, calling out for Bucky. Sam stopped him and told him his friend was gone. With Natasha. What the hell was she doing with him? Why hadn't she told him about this? Was there some past history she hadn't mentioned? He'd thought he could trust her. To save his life, to help him. Not to go off with his friend on some mission without letting him know Buck wasn't with HYDRA, wasn't dead.

"Steve, calm down," Sam's voice had finally broken through his chaotic thoughts. "She said she'd bring him in when he'd let her."

"You talked to her?" Steve demanded, turning to face his friend.

"Yeah, man, come on. Let's not chat here."

Steve looked around. There were people on the tarmac, staring at them. The plane, Bucky's plane, was gone. He followed Sam and paced the floor inside the quinjet while Sam relayed what Natasha had told him.

"How'd she find him?" Steve wondered aloud.

"I don't know. She didn't say. What do you think we should do, Cap?"

He sighed. "Hang back, like she said. I guess we could go back to Tony's. Gather intel on him so we can be useful whenever she gets him to come back to us."

"Good thinking. Have a seat. I'll fly."

The flight was a few hours. Steve was lost in thought for the majority of it. He'd been excited to be on Bucky's trail, but finding him had definitely not gone how he'd imagined (or hoped) it would. What was Bucky doing? Taking down HYDRA, it looked like. Or trying to. Steve thought painfully that this had been the mission Bucky had been doing before he fell. And the Winter Soldier would certainly have a good reason to continue it. Wouldn't it be easier to complete if he had some help? Well, Steve supposed, that was potentially where Natasha came in. Had Bucky recruited her or had she found him? He couldn't wait to hear the story.

Tony was not surprised to see them. Sam explained what had happened, and Tony showed them some rooms they could borrow. Steve stayed in his for a long time. Eventually, he joined Sam and Tony, and occasionally Pepper or Bruce, mainly to discuss what Bucky and Nat could possibly be doing. And theorize how they had ended up working together. The last time they'd met, on the highway, Nat had barely escaped with her life. She might not have, if Steve hadn't been there. It was generally agreed that her being alive still was a good sign in terms of Bucky's recovery from being the Soldier. It was anyone's guess where his mind was, though.

Time passed slowly for Steve. He worried constantly about his friends, and Sam and Tony could do little to distract him. Not that they didn't try, of course, but were rarely successful. Steve wasn't sure how many days it had been, perhaps a week, when his laptop suddenly displayed a message in the corner. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it was from Nat. It was encoded, of course, but he'd had plenty of experience decoding messages from allies; it didn't take him too long to find out what she had to say. Bucky was okay, she assured him, and had eleven bases he was going to take down. Then they might have a reunion.

He had heard about other bases being destroyed. Well, about destruction, anyway. The news reports did not contain as much information as he would have liked. Bucky and his team were not caught on film again, so it was unclear how many bases Steve could say with certainty his friend had found and demolished. In any case, knowing there was a finite number before Bucky might consider himself done was great news. Steve hurried to tell Sam and Tony, and let them distract him from his guilt for an evening.

* * *

The next morning, Steve woke up before everyone else. That was often the case. He opened his laptop to read more of the files he had on Bucky. He'd read them all before, but spent a great deal of time looking for further clues. Even if he found the likely location of a base where the Winter Soldier had been worked on, he knew he had to resist going there. Natasha had told him to wait, and he was willing to put his trust in her. Though his patience had been wearing thin until yesterday. Now he wanted to use the information in the files to determine exactly how many of the eleven bases were already destroyed.

To his surprise, there was another message on his screen. It provided the coordinates of a location in South America and a time; twelve hours from now. His brow furrowed. It was clearly from Nat, but he definitely hadn't expected to hear from her again so soon. Was something wrong? He looked up from his laptop and saw that the sun, at least, was up. Tony had finished Sam's suit two days ago, so Steve decided it was a good time to wake everyone.

* * *

The coordinates Nat sent lead Steve and Sam to a field in Chile. It currently had no crops growing on it, so it was an easy landing spot. The jungle rimmed three sides of the field. Steve told Sam to wait and left the quinjet alone, dressed in his stealth uniform and holding his shield. They had scanned the area for any kind of trap, and come up with nothing. Still, it was good not to rush into things.

"Hey, Steve," Natasha called, stepping out of the jungle.

Steve looked passed her, but no one else seemed to be there. "Hey, Nat. You doing okay?" he asked, focusing on her. Her stride was a little slow, and she seemed to be favoring her side.

"Just got shot at a little. I'm fine," she answered with a smirk as she closed the distance between them. He clenched his jaw, frowning at her. "Don't worry, Rogers. There was a mole. A few, actually. We took care of them. But I was hoping you could help us take down their boss," she explained.

"We?"

She smiled a little sadly. "Your pal Bucky. And me. The rest of the men were let go."

"So just the three of us?"

"Sam won't want to sit this one out."

He glanced toward the quinjet. "You're right. What's the plan?"

She handed him a flash drive. "Follow the instructions carefully, Rogers. I'd hate for you to jeopardize the whole operation," she explained, her smirk returning.

"I understand," he replied, not matching her expression.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Steve. He's okay. We'll all meet up again soon, and maybe we can take some time off to catch up."

"Thanks, Nat," he said sincerely. She nodded at him, and turned away, disappearing back into the jungle. He frowned after her, then looked down at the drive in his hand.

* * *

They arrived in Nice, France before dawn. Following Nat's directions exactly saw them waiting in a small café near the center of the city, drinking coffee. They were right on time. Sam had his wings on under his jacket, and Steve was similarly suited up. His shield was on his back, not handy, but he was ready. At 07:00, they left the café and ducked down the alley next to it. There was a door some ways back, which Steve knocked on as instructed.

The door opened and a man stood before them, frowning at them. "Who are you?" he demanded in French.

Steve looked passed him, into the long, narrow room behind him. "Captain America," he replied calmly, then punched the man in the face. With Sam on his heels, he entered the room, stepping over the unconscious door guard. There was a television, some couches, and some lab equipment.

"I hate this part," Sam said quietly as Steve wrenched open the hidden elevator at the back of the room.

"What part?" Steve asked conversationally as they got in and waited patiently to reach the correct floor.

Sam pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. "It's hard to use wings underground," he explained, pulling out his pistols.

"I'm sure you'll manage," Steve answered as the doors opened to reveal a room large enough to be a hangar bay.

"Looks like it," Sam replied quickly before the first set of guards noticed their presence. After that, there wasn't any time for talking. Sam took off and dispatched the men on the parapets. Steve dove into the fray and made quick work of the dozen or so men around him. They were not as well-trained as the Strike team, and he had more room to use his shield. When he'd gotten through the first wave of men, he tossed his shield to take down a man trying to snipe Sam, who soon was returning the favor. Air support was always a big advantage in a battle, even such a small one as this.

The second group of guards to reach Steve had clearly been better trained, and it took him some time to drop them all. Midway through them, he heard alarms blaring and things exploding. He was strongly reminded of the last mission on the helicarriers, and wondered vaguely if that meant Bucky was here. Or, more accurately, the Winter Soldier. Bucky had always relied more on stealth.

Panting, Steve paused to catch his breath and survey the damage. The men he'd fought were mainly unconscious, but might awaken soon. The far side of the cavernous room was aflame, and more guards were heading in that direction than coming to face him. "You okay, Sam?" he asked into his radio, looking up.

Sam landed next to him. "So far," he replied. "Got grazed a little, but I'll live. Shall we?"

"Let's go."

On the other side of the compound, which they crossed with little opposition, Steve knew there was another room. It was smaller, with heavy steel doors and thick concrete walls. Nat didn't know if it also contained an elevator or went further underground, but she had known this was where they would find their target. So far, Steve and Sam had engaged and beaten twenty-five guards. She had thought there might be at least fifty men working down there. As they approached the smaller room, they saw bodies of at least ten men. Others ran toward them, or maybe away, and Steve knocked these down, so they couldn't come back and corner their attackers while they were busy in the small room.

When they finally got to the other side, Steve and Sam found that there were several corridors they hadn't expected. Exchanging a glance, they split up and went down the two furthest left. Steve walked lightly, not wanting to attract notice. There were explosions and flames behind him, but he couldn't hear anything up ahead. The hallway turned to the right at a 270 degree angle and he slowed to a stop behind the curve, listening hard. He could hear a scuffle. He tightened his grip on his shield and moved forward.

The room was clearly someone's quarters. There was a bed, a desk, some chairs, a television. These were in disarray, debris covering the ground. The Winter Soldier stood near the far wall, his metal arm holding an older man off his feet by the throat. The Soldier was masked, and the man was gasping, hands scrabbling against the metal. Before Steve could say anything, a panel of wall magically slid aside and a man leaned out, pressing the barrel of a rifle against the Soldier's side. Bucky froze, eyebrows drawn down in a glare as he turned his head slightly in the direction of the threat. Steve could guess what would happen next, and took the opportunity to throw his shield. A gunshot rang out as it hit the guard in the chest, knocking him back, then bounced and hit Bucky as well, with enough force for him to drop his captive.

Steve jumped forward to retrieve it, then grabbed the older man by the collar and pushed him onto his knees. He brought his hands behind his back and stood behind him, looking at Bucky. "Sorry about that," he said quietly.

The Soldier was rubbing absently at his side where the shield had struck him. "I had him," he replied.

Both tensed when footsteps could be heard running down the hall, ready to face another attack. But then Sam and Nat appeared. "Oh, good," she said, slowing.

"Guess I picked the wrong hallway," Sam muttered. He looked a little worse for wear.

"The guard barracks," Nat explained, motioning in the direction Sam had gone. "I came along just in time."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam told her, smiling briefly.

"Well, that went mostly according to plan. Shall we get out of here?" Nat suggested, hands on her hips.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who hadn't moved except to relax a little since the two had appeared. "Yeah, I've got him," he said, referring to the man at his feet.

"Great." Nat smiled almost reassuringly at him, seeing the way he'd glanced at Bucky. "Let's move out, gentlemen."


	15. You'll Be Fine, I Will Get Left Behind

**A/N: Last chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who's stuck with it :)**

**15\. You'll Be Fine, I Will Get Left Behind**

Leaving the hidden base was not easy, of course, but they managed. The Soldier led the way, so that helped. Not much got past him. Natasha watched Steve carefully, though he seemed to have little trouble staying focused on the mission at hand. If he was disturbed to see his best friend efficiently murdering people, it didn't show. Whatever Sam felt about the situation wasn't apparent on his face, but she suspected he was holding off on forming an opinion until he saw how Steve would respond.

Finally, they were back on the street. There were sirens coming, no doubt because of the smoke that followed their exit. They fell into step behind the Soldier, who led the way back to their plane. Natasha allowed Steve to go in front of her, dragging Victor along beside him. As they left the city, she walked next to Sam. The Soldier did not provide the opportunity for Steve to walk next to him. Sam glanced over at her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She shrugged eloquently in response and the group continued in silence.

"You followed the directions precisely?" she asked as the Soldier opened the hatch to their plane.

"Yeah. The quinjet is on auto-pilot, going back to Tony's." Steve was not looking at her, still watching his friend. "What's next?"

The Soldier jumped into the plane, then turned around to face them. "We take him in," he said ominously.

Steve's eyes narrowed slightly, though possibly more confused than angry. "Where?"

"Fury," Natasha replied, climbing into the plane after the Soldier. She slipped passed him and went to start the engines while they sorted themselves out. Things were going to be uncomfortable for this ride; she was glad it would only take them about an hour to get to the place Fury agreed to meet. She strapped herself into the pilot's seat, and waited until she heard the hatch close. "Everyone good back there?" she asked over the intercom.

"We're good," Sam called back.

* * *

"I thought you were going to lay low," Fury said, looking at her intently.

"So did I," she replied with a smile.

He looked over at the men with whom she had arrived, who were handing Victor over to Fury's team. "Interesting company you're keeping."

"They're good soldiers," she replied.

Fury turned his attention back to her. "Yes, they are. Where will you go now?"

She shrugged. "Back to Stark's. For a while at least. He's invited all the Avengers, you know," she added with a smile.

"I know," he answered, almost smiling back. "Good luck, Natasha. Keep those soldiers in line."

"You know I will, sir."

* * *

Sam volunteered to fly them back. He said something about wanting to fly that model of plane, and Natasha couldn't think of a particularly relevant excuse to refuse him. She suspected he wanted to do it to give Steve and Bucky space for their reunion. Slipping into one of the seats near the cockpit, she leaned back and closed her eyes. She hoped her presence wouldn't prevent whatever it was they needed to say to each other.

The two super soldiers climbed into the plane and stood awkwardly in the open space of the cabin. Neither seemed to consider going to the private cabin in the back. Natasha watched them through half-closed eyes and would have been amused by their awkwardness if it weren't quite so sad.

"Steve, you're bleeding," the Soldier said suddenly.

Steve looked down at his side in surprise. "Yeah," he replied, seeming at a loss.

"I'll get the med kit," Natasha volunteered. The Soldier looked at her sharply, but didn't move. She fetched it from the bathroom and returned to Steve. "You're going to need to take off your shirt, Rogers," she told him gently. His suit was not exactly designed for easy removal, so she helped him a bit. "Soldier, what do we have in this?"

"Standard field dressing," the Soldier replied, opening it. He sounded worried.

"It's just a graze. It needs stitches." She looked up at Steve, then glanced over at the Soldier. "No volunteers?"

"I can do it," the Soldier said quietly. She moved Steve over to one of the tables and made him lay down so his side was easier to access. Then she stood beside the Soldier and helped however she could as he expertly dressed the wound.

"I feel like we've been here before," Steve said quietly, staring intently up at the ceiling.

The Soldier gave a short laugh. "You always seem to get yourself into more trouble than anyone else."

"So I'm a little reckless…"

"A little?" The Soldier shook his head, a small smile gracing his features for the first time she'd seen. "I seem to recall you going by yourself 30 miles behind enemy lines to rescue some idiot you didn't even know survived the battle."

"I'd think that idiot would be a little more grateful," Steve replied, frowning.

"Grateful to Dugan and the rest who got us the hell out of there."

Steve hissed as the Soldier pulled the stitches tight to knot them. "They were good men," he said quietly.

"Yeah, they were." Finished with the task, the Soldier stepped back and the moment of camaraderie seemed lost.

Steve glanced at Natasha, then got to his feet, pulling his suit the rest of the way on again. "Am I still reckless, Nat?"

She looked between the two men briefly, gauging their emotional state. Stepping lightly was definitely required here. "You jumped out of a plane after Iron Man and two Asgardians with nothing but your shield and a parachute." The Soldier looked at Steve sharply and she resisted smiling at his almost offended look. "You jumped into the water to get at the Lumerian Star without a parachute. Those may be the only other times we've been on a plane together, Rogers. Should I be offended that you always want to jump off them to get away from me?"

The Soldier laughed. "That's Steve, always running into fights and away from women."

Natasha hid her surprise, but found herself laughing as well at Steve's discomfort. "Listen, you two, I like women just fine, it's just not a priority," he stammered.

"I don't know about women, but you liked Peggy," the Soldier acquiesced.

"I still like Peggy. She's just… a little out of my league."

"She's still alive?" the Soldier asked quietly.

"Yeah. I go visit her sometimes." Steve sat down at one of the tables and the Soldier almost tentatively lowered himself into the seat across from him. Natasha stayed where she was, waiting.

"Is… is anyone else?"

Steve shook his head sadly. "Seventy years is a long time." He paused, looking intently at his friend, who was staring at the table in front of them. "Why didn't you come back sooner?" Steve asked at last.

The Soldier looked up sharply, his eyes flickering to Natasha's, then back to Steve. "I had to do something first. Before I couldn't do it anymore."

"Destroy HYDRA? Why couldn't you do it anymore?" Steve demanded, perplexed.

Seeing the distress on the Soldier's face, Natasha walked over and pulled up a chair to sit at the head of the table. "He's having a hard time, Steve," she explained softly. "With his cognitive recalibration."

The Soldier looked gratefully at her for a moment, while Steve stared at her in surprise, brow furrowing. "The more I remember, the harder it is to deal with. I wanted to… to get revenge as much as I could before the guilt started crushing me."

"Bucky…" Steve met his friend's eyes and murmured heart-brokenly. "It's my fault all this happened," he added.

"No, Steve, it's not. It's theirs. And I've made them pay, as much as I could," the Soldier said sharply. He glanced at Natasha again, who smiled at him reassuringly. "But it wasn't enough. I could… I could use some help. Maybe from someone with as much cause to hate HYDRA as I have," he added slowly.

"Bucky, of course, I'd be happy to help," Steve said quickly.

"We can finally finish our mission," the Soldier said with a grim smile.

"We really have been putting it off for long enough," Steve agreed, matching his expression. "Colonel Phillips would give us an earful if he were still around."

"Well, I'm glad we'll miss that," the Soldier answered sincerely.

"Me too."

The two soldiers smiled slowly at each other and Natasha found herself smiling as well. "So, you old timers going to fill me in on these war story references, or should I go chat with Sam at the kiddie table?"


End file.
